In seeking ground for taking hold,
our roots reach down into our mothers’ lives
then through their history to the present—
the very spot where we, ourselves, fill the sky
and wave our leafy branches.
This ground gains sustenance from
our mothers’ stories; we grow as
their laughter dapples down like sunbeams,
their tears lavish us like rain of the spring storms.
Moments tendril over years, and our roots thicken,
our greens deepen, our dramas intermingle
and flower outward—we, too, become mothers.
Only then do we learn the weight of sunlight
and the joys of weeping.
July 20, 2010