Posted October 15, 2020 by Christina Chase life and death

The Gift

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.

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.