Being Mother

Softly she falls, a girl, tumbling, slow.
Kissed by each glistening web as she goes.
Paper her wings, diamonds her eyes,
Gazing through leafy, blue glimpses of sky.

Snatches of songs sound,
time softly fades.
Windows flung open as years are replayed.
Sharper and brighter than ever they were,
She is the mirror reflected in her.

Clearer her senses, kinder her eyes:
Shaking off each heavy, dusty disguise.
Knowing herself as she knew all along,
Venturing forward, with courage so strong.

All that she searched such an age to unearth,
 She’s finding in places, not tied to her birth.
Little by little each piece is restitched,
A tapestry woven from every last wish.

Skin may be loose now, 
hair not so bright;
But here still,
the child;
trading dreams in the night.

Little by little, she paints every stroke.
Watching her fears, softly vanish, like smoke.

Every sense woken, she’s watching her hands.
Sculpting her future on firm golden sand.
No longer falling but flying through space. 
Walking each step with her back to the race . 

LW