The Cries of Every Heaven

a poem from labor.

Image found on Pinterest, actual source unknown.

I know the constant 
of my mother’s worship,
how she turns 
her skin into scripture,
her veins into verse. 

She sang in my left ear 
on the day of my labor,
helped me pace my breath
as the tides rolled in,
as the waves came crashing
and you rushed from my womb.

She called me a warrior that day,
said my strength was like 
the surge of a tsunami,
or the rumble of 
a thousand mouths
opening in prayer.

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This poem is from my book, Beckoning of the Wind: An Ode To Motherhood