The threshold ⁣
Of motherhood⁣
Is crossed.⁣
Our being ⁣
Shifts,⁣
From the moment ⁣
We share space ⁣
With another. ⁣
Yet who will also mother us?⁣
When they stay,⁣
We are joyous.⁣
If it’s not their ⁣
Time to stay,⁣
We grieve and we grieve. ⁣
And we’re grateful they chose us for a while. ⁣
And always,⁣
We will be their mother. ⁣
But in the pain who mothers us? ⁣
When our lives⁣
Are graced,⁣
And they join us earthside,⁣
Mothering consumes us. ⁣
Through breast or bottle ⁣
We feed them. ⁣
Through voice ⁣
And song ⁣
We comfort them. ⁣
We guide them,⁣
Teach them.⁣
And who mothers us?⁣
Sometimes our mothering is inspired. ⁣
Sometimes not so. ⁣
Sometimes our love is welcomed,⁣
Sometimes rejected. ⁣
Sometimes there’s the indifference⁣
Of familiarity.⁣
Then, who mothers us?⁣
They find their own way.⁣
We encourage their flourishing. ⁣
We cheerlead them on their path, ⁣
With the blessings ⁣
From a mother’s heart. ⁣
A mother’s heart,⁣
Who will always ⁣
Yearn for the cuddles,⁣
Singing together,⁣
Giggles and play. ⁣
Because who mothers us?⁣
And we hope,⁣
When Larkin says⁣
We fuck them up,⁣
That it’s minimal,⁣
And that they grow, ⁣
And that they flourish, ⁣
And that they thrive on their path. ⁣
Through all our hoping,⁣
Who mothers us?⁣
At day’s end, ⁣
Do we even notice⁣
The child within,
Longing too to be mothered?⁣
Our mothering, ⁣
In all its guises,⁣
Never rests.⁣