If Mother Could Rest

If I rise out of being her child,

if I rise out of being a child, if

I rise out of my identity, and

drift as a seed before she and my

father called me into the world,

I can see how frightened she’s

been of this life. Far away

and out of her reach, I can

wish her peace. At 86, she’s

losing her mind. The tragedy

is she didn’t lose it sooner.

A Question to Walk With: Try to see and describe your mother or father as a person and not as your parent.

This excerpt is from my book, The Way Under The Way: The Place of True Meeting, 2016 Nautilus Award Winner.

For more poetry for the soul, click here.

For more by Mark Nepo, click here.

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