a mothers love at nautilus teachings

she loves me
she loves me

A woman’s prayer was answered
In May of 1962 in the ‘burbs’ of Chicago.
Tears streaming down her cheeks
She begged God for solace, for relief
From the demons which inhabited her home.
“Please God, give me a daughter,
Give me someone who will love me back…”
As the lunches were served around the city
I entered with a mere coo, a soft smile and a cornered heart.
At the same time the two toe headed demons
Planned my demise while my father continued
To build a wall of steel, surrounded by cornered silence.

my mother used to tell me i was her gift
obedient of my father’s wishes, run ragged by my brothers,
My mother was soft, full of color and light.
Her soul struggled for release.
As she held me in her arms, her burdens began to lift-
If only for mere moments of time.
She would dress me in pretty coats with matching bonnets
Or brush my long silky hair.
As I grew and hung on to her apron strings
My spirit hidden behind my big brown eyes
My happiness depended upon the
Silence I was expected to lock inside.


Tumbling down the red wooden steps
being called names and shoved by my brothers
Left my tiny soul shattered, yet I always knew
My mother would be there to hold and rescue me.
I would wake to her smile, I would follow her scent,
I would draw in her colors and if would feel her pain.
As she would dress for date night every Saturday, I would lie
on the bed and gaze at her beauty. She was the rose
on the thorns, and this image flowed through my veins like a slow,
Long ride on a squishy inner tube down the lazy river
Surrounded by yellow daffodils and linen white Lily of the valley flowers.


I knew as a child I was her beating heart.
That I was given to be her red lipsticked smile.
I was hers, so she could be mine.
This may sound silly, but we drew from each other
Strength, faith, hope, love and the dream of
Living behind a white picket fence instead of being
Locked up and surrounded by the runoff of filth,
Pain, torture and words which could never be unsaid.
In my mother’s short life upon this earth
I loved her as the the seedlings are quenched by the rain.
I was born, to live, to die, to live again and while I am here
Her story I will tell, her love I will share and I WILL BLOOM.