A bit of poetry, musing on Creation, Autumn … and Mother …
She, the flora of forests and fields, gives herself beautifully
in the berries that she yields and the grains that she lets fall
into the ground. Rooted deep into the heart of her being,
she has found abundant life, welling up and burgeoning forth
to feed the hungering, who cannot live without her sacrifice,
and to shelter the poor, cradled in crooks and slumbering at her feet.
Responding to even the most gnawing need that begs
for flesh, she will be stripped, piece by piece. Holding back nothing
of herself for herself amidst the leaf-drops, blood red,
of her surrender, unconditionally shed in the giving of love.
Mother to me,
even not at prime: when visible the cracked skin,
sparse grass, drying stems, and gnarling joints.
Ancient and renewed, gift as no other,
who loves with the love of the self-giving heart.
© 2020 Christina Chase
Feature Photo courtesy of my dad © 2020 Dan Chase
Christina Chase View All
Although crippled by disease, I'm fully alive in love. I write about the terrible beauty and sacred wonder of life, while living with physical disability and severe dependency. A revert to the Catholic faith through atheism, I'm not afraid to ask life's big questions. I explore what it means to be fully human through my weekly blog and have written a book: It's Good to Be Here, published by Sophia Institute Press.
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