Motherbrain: The Power of Motherhood (Poetic Prose)
The power of motherhood lies in deep, quiet things, in moments of silence and whispers of the deep secrets, much like those buried in the earth: treasures everpresent only uncovered in times of bright exposure to the sharp sunlight of the sky. Power exudes from milk-laden breasts, from full, rounded bellies carrying wriggling, squirming life from place to place. Mother draws her children back to herself, people jumping on a round, full planet, unable to evade gravity despite wish, attempt, or need. Her children orbit around her like little moons, or follow her like imprinted fowl. They wander hither and yon, but they always seem to return, looking for the soft whispers of comfort, the careful expressions of wisdom, the providence expressed in wild words and flailing gestures.
All is not sunshine and roses, moon and starlight. The Earth, the Mother First, carries deep, dark, wet caverns, filled with painful, smelly things. There are familiar nights consisting of caring and wishing and hoping, pressing beyond self to assure survival, victory, well-being. Tears drip like water from ancient formations, shaping and carving into the basic psyche, expecting nothing in return for time or effort spent -- nothing beyond excellence, awareness, or perseverance.
The treasures do not solely belong to the next generation. She treasures small things: rocks and string, kisses and smiles, laughter, wonder, understanding. Fierce pride and deep worry war within her, her own fully cognizant of her variable moods. She strives to be as solid and there as Tera Firma, as soft and comforting as the blanket she pulls up to a chin, as wise as the women to whom she listened, even as she promised things would be different for those who belong to her.
There is a deep contentment in the quiet hours, of pondering how things may be, of contemplating dreams and plans, an expectation that the darkness may steal. For moments, strung together between terrors and tension, she loves so intensely and happily that she knows potential can become reality, dream will appear. Perhaps its shape may be of an order completely different than her imaginings, but she knows that the minds in her care will accomplish great things -- known to all, or perhaps only to one, to whom a crucial difference is made.
And the wheel, like the earth, turns.