What impact do those women have
Who live their lives around us when we’re young
As seeds are sown in fertile soil,
No weed as yet being set
To spring to life as if by chance
Some day much later unaware?
They weave their life around our woof of self with warp-like culture
As we grow up into their life –
Soft words of comfort, wit and charm
Lay our foundations sick or strong
On which to build and live our walk.
I tried to locate Tina now I’m older – she more so
To ask and thank or just to walk a pace or two
The other end of lives entangled in the past
Now fused together deep in countless ways.
I think the thread of politics was laid for me those days
The politics of love – beyond the noisy kind –
Forswearing war, of course, but more –
Much deeper in the mind and soul
Of each – the challenge to be fair
Not to ourselves alone
But to the others –
And if both self and other can’t survive
Then let the other live
By pouring our resource to them
As full as we can give.
I was an inconvenient birth –
The kind today that’s flushed away
With scarce a thought or backward glance –
Mom let me live – was this because
The woman walked with us and held a dignity for life
That showed the Way?
My mom went on to give her life
That five of us might greater be
Than she could ever hope or dream –
Nor ever spoke regretful words
Or wistful glances throw as we
Went forward into life full-woven
Of her stock for all the world to see.
And now each week they wonder why
I take the time to join her to the Church that nursed her
Long before my birth and presence in her life –
“What time?” I ask, “She gave me sixty years thus far,
Stand back, rethink, and see!”
But as I look around me now
With my horizon creeping in
And Boomer peers now creaking to the grave,
I pause and ask – what warp we wove
To woof of infants’ minds –
Survivors of the flushing drains
Of inconvenient births.
Were there no Tina’s in our homes
To model Life and Truth and Way
So, drifting through each easy day
We face now here the full-grown crop
To hear them say – “same thing” –
Then face ourselves the flushing drains
Of ‘inconvenient life’.