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Since May is Mothering Month, I intend to post a diverse array of articles for the rest of the month, about and for mothers.<\/em><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Motherlines<\/strong><\/p>\n By Mary Saaracino<\/a>, CO <\/strong><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Margaret<\/p>\n On the day I was born you nearly bled to death<\/p>\n perhaps a sign that our lives were marked for strife<\/p>\n but a mother\u2019s womb is a thing of power<\/p>\n a proving ground for life and all its mysteries<\/p>\n you called me first-daughter and I shouldered<\/p>\n that responsibility, sometimes bearing<\/p>\n too many of your sorrows<\/p>\n always bearing mine<\/p>\n our lives are as entwined as our DNA<\/p>\n that mitochondrial ribbon of memory<\/p>\n tethers us to the long sighs of mothers and daughters \u2014<\/p>\n Maria Fiora Petronilla Lazurri<\/p>\n Maria Assunta Rocchiccioli \u2014 and other<\/p>\n more ancient daughters, mothers,<\/p>\n grandmothers, great grandmothers \u2013<\/p>\n whose names we do not know<\/p>\n strong women who loved and lost, laughed and cried<\/p>\n dreamed and despaired and lived \u2014 always<\/p>\n lived knowing that blood runs deep<\/p>\n and primeval bonds are never severed<\/p>\n whether our days are carefree or fraught with pain<\/p>\n something carries us forward<\/p>\n something that knows mothers are imperfect<\/p>\n and daughters are too<\/p>\n something that knows us each by heart<\/p>\n celebrates the joys and sorrows<\/p>\n blesses us all the way through.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Rose<\/p>\n Not mother by birth, but second mother by chance<\/p>\n your fierce spirit a reminder<\/p>\n that a woman strong is a mighty beauty \u2014<\/p>\n though some would not agree<\/p>\n when first you married my father<\/p>\n my twenty-something eyes had seen too much<\/p>\n yet much more lay ahead<\/p>\n at your table I have feasted on roasted chicken<\/p>\n with potatoes, polenta simmering in red sauce,<\/p>\n savory meatballs and homemade fried dough<\/p>\n listening to your stories about your sisters,<\/p>\n heeding your reminder to always cherish mine<\/p>\n there\u2019s something in a woman\u2019s bones that celebrates<\/p>\n the twin sustenance of food and sisterhood,<\/p>\n something that honors the balm that resides<\/p>\n in the love of mothers\u2014biological or not \u2014<\/p>\n that knows life is painful and bearable<\/p>\n knows, too, that only love sustains us<\/p>\n through the long walk home<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Rosemary<\/p>\n When first I met you my life lay in shards<\/p>\n at my feet, splinters of mirrored glass reflecting<\/p>\n worry and woe back at my astonished eyes<\/p>\n discontent called my name<\/p>\n you asked me to look closely<\/p>\n wait and listen for my truth, for answers<\/p>\n I never cried in front of you<\/p>\n yet the kindness in your eyes<\/p>\n called my name<\/p>\n steeled my courage<\/p>\n led me home<\/p>\n together we mended<\/p>\n the fragile fragments<\/p>\n fashioned woe into a window<\/p>\n a doorway<\/p>\n a way in & out<\/p>\n of my delicate, willing heart<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Laura<\/p>\n Voice clenched in terror<\/p>\n I sat before you<\/p>\n too many secrets trapped<\/p>\n in too many memories<\/p>\n my lips afraid to speak<\/p>\n my brain shattered by shock<\/p>\n I wanted to shout, but could not<\/p>\n I wanted to silence years of no-no-no<\/p>\n dive, singing, into the boundless sea of yes-yes-yes<\/p>\n I longed to drown in epiphany, be reborn<\/p>\n a woman whose tongue was ablaze<\/p>\n with voluptuous vowels<\/p>\n loose-limbed consonants<\/p>\n I could not have known<\/p>\n the way out was strewn<\/p>\n with prayers and poems<\/p>\n pictures drawn of fierce, howling mouths<\/p>\n the dark eyes of a young girl staring back at me<\/p>\n her twisted mouth clamped shut<\/p>\n her lonesome hands reaching<\/p>\n for something it would take me years to recognize<\/p>\n when at last the stifling air stirred<\/p>\n I began to cry and sculpted Amazons of clay<\/p>\n fists clenched against injustice, wanting \u2014 always wanting \u2014<\/p>\n to laugh, to dance, to say what I needed to say<\/p>\n without censor, without regret, without retaliation<\/p>\n and you, a patient midwife,<\/p>\n witnessed my bloody birth without flinching<\/p>\n breath after precious breath you stood resolute<\/p>\n as I gathered the lost syllables<\/p>\n reclaiming the nouns, verbs, plump sentences<\/p>\n of my mother tongue<\/p>\n the native language of my soul<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Lucia<\/p>\n Mother of mothers dark and divine<\/p>\n your secret keys unlocked ancient doorways<\/p>\n ushering me down dusty roads<\/p>\n peppered with red poppies and parched ruins<\/p>\n Sicily captured me, cradled me in her fragrant arms<\/p>\n coaxed my soul from its too-long slumber<\/p>\n your audacity, your heart, your laughter<\/p>\n spoke of things long forgotten<\/p>\n daring me to speak as well<\/p>\n and to remember<\/p>\n remember<\/p>\n always<\/p>\n remember<\/p>\n Her name<\/p>\n Her name<\/p>\n Her name<\/p>\n *****<\/p>\n Donna Henes is the author of\u00a0\u00a0 The Queen of My Self: Stepping into Sovereignty in Midlife<\/a><\/em>. She is the Midlife Midwife\u2122 offering counseling and upbeat, practical and ceremonial guidance for individual women and groups who want to enjoy the fruits of an enriching, influential, purposeful, passionate, and powerful maturity.<\/p>\n Consult the MIDLIFE MIDWIFE\u2122: http:\/\/www.donnahenes.net\/queen\/consult.shtml<\/a><\/p>\n ***<\/p>\n