For mothers are the first educators, the first mentors; and truly it is the mothers who determine the happiness, the future greatness, the courteous ways and learning and judgment, the understanding and the faith of their little ones.
‘Abdu’l-Bahá
mother, you are out there
at the end of my rope
holding me down
axiomatically;
I sit at night
deskside, pen poised
waiting for a muse
to goose me
waiting for love
from a trap door;
your unguents cannot now
nor chicken soup suffice me;
cordbound, clayshod
crude borne in the dark,
I await your messages,
all the pretty names
the panaceac creams
as the slack is taken up
and the kitechild drifts
to his limits.
John S. Hatcher, A Sense of History, p. 65
1 thought on “Tethered Child”