Yearnings
I desire to enfold
a precious new life
just sent from heaven
to our hearts
To delight in the exquisite
detail of hands, feet, fingers, toes,
the smooth contours of a tiny nose.
To ruffle scant hair atop her scalp
Where can I go to find
the little one my heart yearns for?
Day ONE
I clasp a fragile wonder—
toes perfectly formed
grasping my thumb,
curling around the pressure
of a caring touch.
I caress a newborn’s tiny foot,
hold an extremity of a miracle,
the little kicking message
saying “world, I am come”.
I Come to Be a Mother
Tied to an operating table
my emotions were flat, exhausted,
trammeled by a day’s long labor.
I felt no joy or grief
only a faint relief
the child was born, alive and whole.
His dark, quiet eyes stared briefly into mine
before the nurses bundled him away,
and the anesthesiologist deepened my sleep
while the obstetrician put my stretched abdomen
back in order.
Bonding mother to child,
love does not always come instantaneously
or easily. Sometimes it must grow
in slow infantile steps, moment to moment,
year to year.
Joys of motherhood come grudgingly
into a hectic career-oriented life.
I nursed the infant with my body as I
nursed the bonds of love that fastened
tightly into my heart.
Love grows fitfully, finds its own space
to develop. He is my child, I am his mother.
With care I nurture his life
and he nurtures mine.
Mother’s Day 2001
Prayer’s answer stands over shoulder high,
squirms impatiently under my arm.
Evidence God’s blessing breathing
into my daily life.
Tears I remember sitting
as mothers stood to be honored
on their special day
Inward cries of desire to share their gift.
A barren heart, home filled
with shrieks of delight.
In a circle of prayer, desires shared.
Humble hopes laid down,
picked up by a joining of hands.
Now here he stands twelve years tall.
A reminder, a witness God’s love,
His living light reflected into my life.
A Mother’s Heart
The heart of a mother
derives from a Father:
the Abba, Daddy
loving God of heaven.
She absorbs love
leaning against his knee.
She drinks compassion
into her soul from the cup
offered by His hand.
She croons her suffering child
into her breast,
smooths his wayward cowlick
with her cheek,
kisses his tears
Her fears she whispers
to Her Father
in almost silent prayers,
knows He understands.
She shares each concern
with Him.
He gathers her tears
in crystal spheres
adorning His throne..
c. Darlene Moore Berg
