I feel sorry for mothers

An alluvium of clear dark waters

shines through the back of their eyes

As a mountain chain,

a veil of rock shields their bodies,

what would have taken a million years

just suddenly appeared.

They carry an oak

inside their throats,

but like a bird they sing

A hammer stabs needles through their backs

and yet like a feather she flies.

One could see a cloud just above their heads

and above that,

the sun

that they will see in  their children’s eyes.

Gloria Rossipoem