The Lion in Winter

for MâMâ

You are the source well of my ancestry,
who kept me through the night
when I was newborn, squalling,
hating that I must know my mother’s face
and ways beyond the dark womb.
You and I share kinship beyond kenning.
It is from you that all good in me has come.

As a child I thought you were a lion
in human skin;  hair an ember-white mane,
eyes fierce with the love and protection
of your pride, your family.
I never believed there was a force in the world
that could stand against you,
expecting even death to turn and hide.

It seems now that he comes calling more often,
growing bolder in his age and yours.
There may come a day when you choose to go with him,
weary of watching a world that is hard always.
You wrestle pain, age and disease ever more unceasingly
as sleep comes more infrequently and stays less long.
You wait, and strain still towards a longstanding dream
of seeing this family stand strong, each of us solid
on our own feet but holding a closeness
that will hold without you.
We urge you to fight, to linger,
wincing at our selfishness
that holds you to your pain.

Whether there is god or justice at all, I know this:
in many ways we all are one, through love
and our own stubborn natures.
If it comes to pass that we live in different worlds,
remember—the love that ties us, binds us.
In this world and the next there is nothing
can come between us but our own shared blood.
This is the bond that can never be broken,
the rhythm of the spirit, memory and love.