She meets me where I am.
Cold and bloodied soul, cracked and soiled,
entrails rotted by the toil of living
as we are.
She too is scarred and beaten,
burn marks from the “radiance” of Life,
patches of bruises stick sickley to the skin
as a cat’s yellow eye.
She’s been through so much,
as I have too.
Yet, she reaches for me with gentle hands,
takes me into her tight embrace,
a loving mother to a child
she is destined to meet.
And I weep and I weep and I weep,
dampening the connecting space of our souls.
The weight of her grieving heart
a glorious prayer made true
by nature’s vicious cycle.