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PRESENCE by Edith Lazenby


 I think the heart of a mother breaks in more ways than I can ever know…
I wrote this last year on my 53rd birthday. It holds the feelings of sorrow I feel often, and strongly of late. I speak of the children I did not have. I speak of my dear my mom who I cherish to this day. I speak of grandmother moon who comforts me often as does the memory of my mom’s mother, who I used to think after she died would greet me when I passed on.
 Mainly I speak of loss like a good friend for loss is sure and steady and near at hand. Yet though I say bliss is now a gift I cannot keep it is only because what bliss and joy I find lives in the giving, to the many friends, family and students I love.
On mother’s day I want to honor all those women who give and give some more.
I want to honor my mother who still knows who I am and offers her love to me every time we talk. And the love and wisdom that she is lives in me every day. She taught me compassion. She gave me the courage to care when it would be simpler to return to the days where it hurt too much to care.
I think the heart of a mother breaks in more ways than I can ever know. Yet with each crack there is a mending that gives mom’s what they need so they can feed their love to love again for the next moment, the next time need asks one to give when we think we have no more.
There is always more.
Presence
I play rolling waves
And AUM to take me to a place
That is softer than dew on grass
And gentler than a 5 week old kitten,
Mewing her needs, craving mommy.
I love my 4 furry children.
They’re all I’ll ever have.
Loss is not sharp anymore.
The twins I wanted.
The babies I grieved
In desire’s dream.
Loss befriends me.
We sip ice water,
We gaze at the moon.
We wonder how many
Moons I had to trace
Before we could sit,
In peace, grandmother moon
Blessing me these 53 years
With her constant care, 
Giving me comfort
When I could find none
In family or friends,
Keeping watch
When I could not watch
Because I was drunk,
Crazy or depressed.
Feeling that bore fangs
And anger in fists
I kept clenched and teeth
I grinded. The hurt had to wear
That face to shelter 
Hurts that claimed me
Since a teen: I could not care.
Now I do. I care for the moon
As if she were my mother
Who will die of Alzheimer’s.
I care because I can, because
I want to care with a touch
That loves as if each stranger
Were the child I longed to know.
Yes, loss is kinder now.
I shed those dinosaur tears
With a smile. Bliss is a promise
I could never make. Now
It is a gift I cannot keep.

Edith Lazenby: “I love to write. I began writing poetry in elementary school. Sometimes I write poetry daily, other times not. I adore Mary Oliver, her way of embracing the light while acknowledging the darkness. I teach yoga full time and find the practice has grounded me deeper in my body and heart and helped me move closer to what I call spirit. I also now edit for Elephant Journal and write for them as well. I live with my husband, who is my best friend, and 4 kitties. Life holds challenges yet with time I feel better able to live in the moment, moment by moment. All great teachers teach presence. I find each day is a lesson in being. The process of writing holds me and I find the craft teaches me something new each time. You may visit my blog here.


~If you are interested in seeing your poetry appear in this blog, or submitting a poem by a woman that has inspired you, please click here for submission guidelines. I greatly look forward to hearing from you!~ 

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