The Fathers

Another perfectly imperfect day begins,
The feeling upon awakening of here I am,
here we are, feeling something like love,
something like warmth, and then a kind of tension,
what needs to be done? What thoughts need thinking,
what questions need answered, what tasks demand completion
before a certain time.
A tightening.
Anticipation.
And then the thought,
Here and now,
I can intend,
I can direct.
My littlest one wrestles with the dog next to me,
And I pray, at first to myself,
then I talk to him,
as he jumps on my stomach and the dog chews my hand.
Ouch. It's my ribs this time. Now it's my leg.
"I say hi to God in the morning. Let's say hi to God.
We're glad to be here, God. Thanks. Help us work with You today.
Our Father, who art in Heaven..."
His father, at the door, wondering who will walk the dog,
announcing that all the fields are open,
and I remember we're out of eggs.
Making the bed and tidying the bedroom,
letting all the light in.
Remembering in the kitchen,
flashbacks from a time before marriage,
a time before children,
what was love then?
How did all this begin,
in 8th grade with a first love,
who rowed me in a canoe,
and told me I was beautiful with braces?
In high school with my boyfriend and his brother,
who brought me a snow white kitten at Christmas?
In a college fraternity house at 4 in the morning,
listening to Simon and Garfunkel,
only to return in shame the next week,
searching for a sapphire earring?
The choreographed waltz for a first wedding.
Young love must not be bottled and corked,
drink it within five years.
The menorah I bought and carried to London,
so I could learn to pray, Barukh atah Adonai,
Eloheinu, melekh ha'loam.
"We should be friends when we're old."
Always knowing I need that mirror,
I think of love all day long,
I go to sleep after being embraced,
I think of love as I sink under,
and come up again with my thoughts still there,
Alone?
I am never alone,
there is God,
there are men, there are boys, there is a man,
the Divine masculine,
because I am female,
I AM the mother,
I join with the Fathers.
My husband,
The fertile ground of my life,
who gave me a place to grow,
to blossom, to nurture big and little men,
and myself,
and to honor our differences,
a mirror and a closed door,
open arms and a distant heart,
that grows nearer and falls away again,
cycling with the seasons.
Our family tree,
the seed that formed it traveled a long and sinuous route.
My father gave that seed to me.
Our Father gave that seed to him.