By K. Sorenson
He was gone when I came home today.
His room was empty, except for echoes
Whispering in the corners,
Like dust curls.
And I, the mother, empty too.
His time had come. I felt it long ago
And tried to push him out in seasonable stretches.
It was a painful labor.
Then, he came to know the growth he prized
Could not survive
Anesthetized,
Smothered,
Bound by rules,
Tradition,
Love.
So he threw off the binding tie,
Not slowly, counting time,
But in one quick wrench
He cut the cord.
And I, with ancient womb, and bare,
Wonder if cobwebs room in there.
Yet, I understand the reason
And will survive this barren season.
{ 3 comments… read them below or add one }
That’s really beautiful and touching. Who is the author?
I mean I know who the author is, but do you know her?
Oregonian, I’m sorry, I just saw this (3 years later!!!). Yes, I know this woman. She was a good friend of my mother’s from her days at BYU’s Continuing Education. She had written this down and sent it to my mother just after I graduated from high school, but I had never seen it before.