The Voyage (poem)

Mother, I miss you,

For I can no longer

Spill over the fruits

Of my harvest

 

To your willing ears,

To your captive smile,

To your thousand

Acclamations.

 

Mother, I miss you:

My distaff, divine rod,

My compass, pointing

True North,

 

Guiding me through peril,

Traversing the morass

Of fear, quenching me,

Spinning laughter.

 

Mother, I miss you,

Conspirator, confidante,

Keeper of secrets

Inviolate.

 

Locked in your garden,

My darkest desires

Seeded and sprouted

And bloomed.

 

Mother, I miss you,

You gypsy, you roamer,

You wandering, wily

Card-poster:

 

What ship have you left on,

What voyage embarked on,

Without booking passage

For me?

 

 

Copyright 2018 Andrea LeDew