she holds my hand

Mother holds my hand,

and that is all I need to know right now.

She is warm

and weathered.

She wears no makeup.

The lines that crinkle her eyes

are beautiful.

Her smile is slight,

but full of love.

Her hair is frazzled,

and a little grey.

“I have always been here for you,”

she tells me.

“Right here—

even when you did not know.”

Of my follies, backsliding,

and moments of foolishness,

she says,

“Sometimes we taste something unpleasant again,

just to remind ourselves that we don’t like it.”

Mother holds my hand,

and that is all I need to know right now.

“This is the wisdom time.

You don’t need to please anyone.

Instead, tell the truth.

Speak the river

that flows from your heart.”

And when you don’t know

what to say

or what to do,

just sit right here with me,

and remember the way home.”

Her touch is like infinite grains of sand

warmed by the sun,

filling me with calm

and purpose.

Mother holds my hand,

and that is all I need to know

right now.