Are you my mother? I do not have to ask And I feel the weight of Privilege To be so held, so nourished, Celebrated and cherished By Earlene and by her Mother, Maggie and even By her mother Minerva though I Never met her she meets Me As midwife, herbalist, healer, lover And I hear she was also Full of wit and fun And so to my mothers I say Thank you,and, Help. Help me carry this temple, this template Of unconditional love Into the broken world To the masses of Unmothered souls Make my hands available to Wipe away tears that Never Felt safe to fall Give me courage to stay open In the face of Hearts slammed closed by Hands and words Of those positioned to protect But instead Neglect. Are you my mother? I do not have to ask And I feel the weight of privilege As I plunge my hands Into fertile soil And feel the stories of death turned Into raw potential Filter through fingers That press seeds tenderly in with Something like trust but more like Worship Knowing something good will Come of this Though I could never truly know Her She meets me In my darkness, turning pain Into love And so to my Mother I say Thank you, and, Help. Help me to be the temple, the Template Of love powerful enough to Move the mountains of Grief That hide innocence from The innocents, To devour shadow energies and Digest them into harmony That those who enter this field will Wonder If their wandering is over and they Have finally found Home That when they say Are you my mother I will say Yes I will say Yes And Thank You, and Help.