Mother

I can sense a stirring in the creative cauldron
we all hold deep inside our bodies.

Melding and merging.
Combining and catalyzing.
Swirling and sparking.

I hold this space inside myself where new life leaps
from dark oblivion into sentience,
into actualized being.

Coiled in upon itself,
this embryo of life begun
spins out its own lifeline,
threads itself into the text,
inscribes its meaning into palimpsests of presence.

And all the while, I hold the space in which it grows.
That cauldron stirred by our wisest selves
…hubble, bubble, toil and…

Cells double and divide, double and divide
watched over, worried over, worked over
by the mother part of me.

I can sense a stirring in the creative cauldron
we all hold deep inside our bodies.