Painted In Gold - 32. A Mother In The Midnight Sun

Did you call me – Mother?

Your voice dry,
your hands callused
and bruised
from winters past.

Do you need me – Mother?

Your joints weak,
your muscles taut
and worn
from scorching skies.

Do you see hope – Mother?

I see your skin in the light,
so dry and so dark.
It has burned from hours
in the midnight sun, heaving
and hoeing for the sake of
your child; your son.

Have you lived – Mother?

Your life has been
spent digging through
dirt and heaving your
hoe and bruising your
hands and straining your
muscles; leaving your
body tired and frail and
your mind drained and
your callused hands
shaking in the winter air,
reaching for help.

Did he answer – Mother?