The poetry of motherhood

I usually save reflections on motherhood for my Here Comes Theo blog. But today, still high on the fumes of Mother's Day, I can't resist considering the relationship between motherhood and poetry.

In my life, motherhood and poetry have been twin teachers in unselfing. Each asks that I show up, pay attention, tend what needs care, let my mind be relaxed and receptive, and dedicate my entire being to disclosing what is asking to come through.

When Theo was an infant, it was poetry that eased those endless night wakings and bone-numbing exhaustion with the wisdom of sitting with my discomfort, being curious about it and friendly toward it, and grateful for the capacity to feel the full impact of my initiation into motherhood.

As Theo has become a toddler, he has reminded me how much surprise is available to us if we let go of what we think we know. On the day he made it clear with gestures that he believed clouds to be composed of the steam from choo choo trains, my inner eye widened to a far greater range of possibility. When he pointed to the Frido Kahlo magnet on the fridge and pronounced, "Dada," I could see it. And, unfortunately, I had to admit my resemblance to the "but not the hippopotamus" hippo in his board book when Theo pointed it out. I work hard in my regular poetry practice to become receptive to metaphor. For my son, figurative imagery is as natural as laughter.

I have stopped trying to understand any of it: how I have become this thick-around-the-middle, middle-aged mother with a swarm of beloved beings staggering around my neighborhood sidewalks in pursuit of our many clashing pleasures. We are a pack traveling together, stanzas adding up to some greater whole that is being shaped through our daily rhythms into the economies of scale that poetry serves up best: music, rhythm, line, imagery, and the rush toward beauty. The compression of time, responsibility, desire and clarifying love that writes through us a narrative through which we look forward and back in search of who we are.

 

Having waited more than a decade for my life circumstances to line up with my desire to mother, I am grateful for the gift of patience that poetry has cultivated in me. A poem will not be forced forward, and neither will our lives, no matter how carefully we plan or intend.

This blessing of life with Theo feels so much of the time far too enormous for words. I have to let my looking go dim, and gather impressions from the periphery of observation. I stand inside and outside myself, senseless, exhausted, bleary and besotted. I sit with him on our little rug in the kitchen as he drinks his morning milk, and I think how our greatest bliss can be nursed from the most simple of rituals. This is the poetry of motherhood. The repetition. The ordinary. The obvious. When I am far too deep to know, I simply slow down and witness. The names of our shared world bubble up like laughter, like grief. The tickle is contagious, until our kitchen is spinning.

Comments

[Caraholman.wordpress.com]

Sage, I was struck by the truth of the line "We are a pack traveling together..." in reference to your family. My daughter said similar words a few weeks ago, when we were taking her puppy for a walk, but she meant them more literally. :) Lovely photos!

[Sage Cohen]

Thanks, Cara! Yes, having been socialized by dogs for more than a decade before becoming a mom, I tend to experience our family that way...So lovely that your daughter is in pack mode, too! Is this the daughter who illustrates so beautifully?

[Caraholman.wordpress.com]

The same. When she visits, she has been teaching me how to dote on my "grandpuppy" (an absolutely adorable toy poodle) without undoing all the nice training he received in puppy school. It's pretty hard not to want to immediately scoop him up in my arms. :)

[Sage Cohen]

What fun!! Photos posted anywhere, Grandma? : )

[Caraholman.wordpress.com]

I learned something new today-- how to post pictures on FB. :) Pictures of Zeus are on my FB page now.

[Eliza]

This was a glorious read. Ahhhh. Thank you for sharing, Sage. And the photos. Such love! Such joy!

Perfect.

[Juliana]

Wow, such powerful, resonant words! Thank you for writing them! "I stand inside and outside myself, senseless, exhausted, bleary and besotted. I sit with him on our little rug in the kitchen as he drinks his morning milk, and I think how our greatest bliss can be nursed from the most simple of rituals." I have a nine-month-old daughter, and I often find myself careening from bliss to despair and back to bliss within seconds. Thank you for your beautiful and wise words!

[6512 and growing]

Ohmygoodness. Such beautiful words. That last paragraph made me sigh. Such true words. Thank you.

[louis vuitton]

Agree with Landlord sit.Various of online games provided are dynamic sense and free indefinitely.We are looking forward to you to here share the experience of
exciting game competition!