The same woman

My daughter & me
When I am 91
Waking up in my bed on wide white sheets
Vanishing into the open question
At the end of my life
I am still a young woman

No baby suckles my breasts
No tiny hand in mine
Brings me to the window
To hear the birds

Yet I am the same woman
Who wrote this poem
Long ago
From the foundering depths of
New motherhood

I am also the baby girl
At the beginning of my life
Held by my mother
To her breast
Giving me her milk

For the work of her career
From the depths of motherhood to be
Doing important things
Her real life

This I absorbed this into my cells
Keeping me
For a long time
From the things I loved
Especially myself

As I nursed my baby this morning
On the wide white sheets
I prayed
For love to guide me

Thanking God for the grace
To leave aside my work
For a while
For the important things
My real life

Even as she sings the alphabet
In the next room
And stammers along the floor
To find me

My baby is the grown woman
Who will bring to me at 91
Her motherhood, her children
Her children's children
And I will remember myself

Published by jchmcpherson

Arts, Education and Writing

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