In Our Mother's Spirit

Susan McMillan

 
          I am a Banyan tree, grown out of seed sown by the wind
          In my mother's garden. Tall, resilient, strong. Rooted
          deep in rich black soil. Securely wrapped In smooth
          brown bark. Scarred and bruised by time. Healing.

          She. Lending shade to younger trees, gently planted with  her own 
          Wounded hands among the stones and weeds.    Each  flower,
          A poem. Each leaf a story from her own lips. Bearing seed 
          To sustain her life in testimony to her  spirituality.

          And when I shall be asked the genre of these exquisite
          Blooms. Their petals blood-red rimmed. Their core as   black 
          As coal. I will proudly answer "blackties". For   when my
          Leaves are withered and my bark is dry, it will  be known.
          In lore, that these perennial blossoms are the bloodline
          Of a rich and tortured heritage. Watered with out    mothers'
          Sweat and tears. And the winds will sow her  seeds forever.