Mother and Child Reunion
Mother and Child Reunion
forging a handheld path
strolling redwoods clusters,
Mother and Child slide along ancient wind tunnels,
kibitzing between out of breaths
light illuminating dark hidden shadows
where children sprint across recycled Keds distances,
resurrecting those long ago Mothers
who now bloom this forest green,
matriarchs back to the source
yes, we are somehow here again in the middle of our lives
maintaining a disjointed balance,
driving along these rollerbop hills,
Annie’s throat bulging gasping and groaning
as her bearded driver downshifts
grinding to second gear: “Oy!”
bashert permits only one convergent harmony
between two prolific rivers,
a single conjoined rebirth ride
from erstwhile into the everlasting:
that singular glimpse of the eternal
and while cities
chew and spit out
daughters and sons,
where wagons and taxis plunge their occupants
into shag-stretched mountain graves
entrenched below skid row tenderloin burned out boweries,
miles away
a sweet baptism may rain,
thoroughly misting a Tamalpais sweltering afternoon,
sequoias and manzanitas witnessing,
drinking in holy earth gulps:
“Mother, hold on to what?”
“My hand, dear”
9/20/73
San Francisco