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By Lisa Meadows Garfield

Mother is dying of dementia, her memory gone
long before her body, my body created
of seed and egg and dust, borne and
birthed by hers, nourished by her milk, by
carrots and apples and nuts grown
in the soil of her knowing, the stories
too, she fed me, of magic and courage,
of gods within us, how we could see
forever from the mountaintop, find
tiny minnows in the shallows, cherish
the cattle, the fowl, the creeping things she nourishes,
her kindness as wide as the
grand expanse of flowered field,
even when she storms and sobs, when
she begins to break, forgetting patterns,
beloved faces, though she groans with the
effort and becomes mine to care for, my turn
to nourish, enliven and thank

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About Lisa Meadows Garfield

Lisa Meadows Garfield is an award-winning poet and author of “For Love of a Child: Stories of Adoption.“ An avid traveler, she is generally away from her homebase in Vancouver, Washington 9 months of the year, exploring the wide, wonderful world. Mother of 6 and Nonnie to 11, Lisa loves sunshine, words, good friends, and especially, Jesus.

1 thought on “Mother”

  1. Lisa – your poem moved my spirit along with it. From the sober start and then through the magic and majesty of who your mom is/was and then set me down softly, even though I am sure the landing had many hard places.


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