Blood and Milk
by Sharlee Mullins Glenn
I dreamed of Oxford . . .
(spires, a thousand spires, endless lectures, musty halls
a solitary self in a Bodleian expanse
A good life my dear Wormwood. An orderly life.)
then awakened to laundry
and things to be wiped
(countertops, noses, bottoms)
How did this happen? And when, exactly?
Time flows, it flows, it flows
and there are choices to be made:
left or right?
paper or plastic?
blood or milk?
There's freedom in the bleeding;
bondage in the milk—do not be deceived.
Ah, but it's an empty freedom; a holy bondage,
A sweet and holy bondage.
Five times I chose the chains, those tender chains,
(though once will bind you just as well!)
and checked the crimson flow.
Suckled while dreaming of Trinity Term
but awakened, always awakened, to the laundry
and to that small and cherished captor at my breast.
*Motherhood is the ultimate expression of nature to me. Happy Earth Day
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3 comments:
That's really beautiful. Thanks for sharing. It reminds me of the poem Pres Hinckley once shared by Anne Campbell: "You are the trip I did not take; You are the pearls I cannot buy; You are my blue Italian lake; You are my piece of foreign sky." That's touching to me because it's true. We make sacrifices in order to be mothers, but these little ones are more precious than an Oxford education.
Beautiful poem. Congrats on being a doula now and babys first tooth. you are an amazing woman!
Okay.. I get it.. Thanks for sharing.
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