A Mother's Reach

I’ve had to accept

That mothers

Never stop bleeding for their child.

Sometimes the blood gushes

Like an amniotic sac

Heralding the imminent

Emergence of new life.

New danger.

New possibility.

Other times,

The blood

Trickles forth from the heart

Like the drip, drip, drip

Of a brown-stained ceiling

Leaking what feels like

The life

Right out of you.

I envy the cultures

That focus on how much Mary

Suffered for Jesus.

With her reputation gone

She was made to watch

Her son


Toward death

Almost continuously through his life.

From the time she birthed him in squalid and unsavory

How she had suffered to keep him alive.

Fleeing persecution

And pain.

At every turn.

She holds the mystery of all

Women’s sacrifice

For the ones they have borne

For the ones they will always suffer for

Always watching them march into the troubled waters

Of the world

Just outside of their mother’s reach.