Mother, Take My Hand
Mother, grasp my hand as I lean towards the water’s edge,
And lead me away from the temptations of the clear unknown.
Laugh at me as I cluelessly fumble with the rope’s knots,
In awe as you dance through reefs and half hitches with grace,
Stumbling as I look up at your example.
Mother, take my hand as I trace over the creases of your experiences,
And gently brush past the rough skin of your misfortune,
To explore the stories hidden within your puzzled eyes.
Smile at me as I meddle restlessly with the rudder,
Trying desperately to lie in the regions of your wake.
Mother, clap your hands as I hoist the mainsail to the peak with perfection,
And sigh as the cold winds of time make you sway in melancholy contemplation,
To make you hesitate at the thought of my inferiority.
Ponder over me as I leave your side and clamber the shroud,
And stare longingly at the currents of uncertainty.
Mother, shake my hand as you pull the anchor,
And watch me thread my gentle fingers through the rough ropes,
Casting my sail into the winds with the confidence of your teachings.
Watch me as I sail into the clouds of sea mist and the uncharted,
And with pride drift slowly into a fading sunset of resolution.
By Issy H
A Mother Figure
I was deemed too sensitive, enraptured by accommodating,
I was deemed too self-preserving, incapable of release,
I was called weak and far too fragile,
I was called strong-willed and far too stubborn,
but you would tell me to be brave,
and you would tell me to let go,
“tell me that you won’t give up”,
“sob into the nook of my neck”,
being guarded isn’t a bad thing,
being able to show emotions isn’t a bad thing,
and even though you weren’t,
and even though you couldn’t be,
you were like a mother to me,
you were like a mother to me.
By Louise P-R