The rocker softly squeaks a protest as
she sinks into its soft embrace.
As she skims
the surface of sleep,
she bares her breast
for this babe
created in her image.
She hums a familiar lullabye
in harmony with the
rocker's own hymn,
gentle creaks not voiced
when mother was daughter.
Echoes of tenderness
reaching back
generations
heard by all mothers once daughters.
Wait! Wait! Wait for me!
13 years ago
4 comments:
This sweet poem certainly speaks to me - and of a time I am currently living. I like the connection between mothers you make and the idea of transition. It is especially poignant to me because it is during those tender hours nursing that I look at my sweet daughter and wonder what her life as a woman and mother might be like. Anyway, thank you.
Wow!
I've never been a mom, but this poem is just beautiful!
I like how the squeaks of the rocker are an integral part of the mother singing to her daughter. My sis is in the other room rocking her new baby--makes this poem very timely for me.
I agree that this poem is beautiful. One of my favorite times with all three of my boys has been rocking/nursing as it is one of the only times they are completely mine and during which I have time to think about past/future.
There's so much I love about this verse. Sinks into its soft embrace... just as the baby sinks into the mother's breast. The rocker's own hymn...
The last 4 lines are the best.
I noticed that where the lines end rock back and forth as well.
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