Category: Mother’s Day

fawn

On By ©️K.T. 2026In agraria, anthropocene, autobiographical, Birth, Chicago, confessional, confessional poetry, Crone, crone chronicles, Crone Consciousness, death and other endings, deer, dirt road chronicles, earthlings, ecocide, fauna, from the inner city to outer rural, heartbreak, maternity, May, Mother, Mother's Day, Motherhood, nostalgia, Poem, poet, poetry, ruralia, timeLeave a comment

yester day
i counted more than 30 species of birds, here
first, i kept a running list in my head
then, i made a google doc to share

and i didn’t even know there was an organized
bird migration count happening
until after the fact /

this morning,
it finally felt
vernal
warm, new air,
a gentle breeze
the exact kind of day to find a fawn nested in the tall grasses around a mulberry or walnut tree
while her mother is off foraging

every one is being born today
every one is dying today

somewhere

it seems //

i can’t remember what it feels like to be a beloved daughter
i can’t remember what it feels like to be a loving daughter

now, repeat those sentences with the word mother instead of daughter

everything is drifting,
has drifted

every thing is being pulled away,
has pulled away

the gravity of me is no longer enough
to hold these familiar bodies in orbit

in a system of we,
in a galaxy of us,

we existed,

only on paper, i think.

but not on kodak paper — you hated photos, and you taught me to them too///

today,

on “World Migratory Bird Day”

the May Plow arrived even as every one is

gestating,
laboring,
birthing,
nesting,
laying,

birds, turtles, deer,
chipmunks,
turkeys,
geese and snakes

the timing of these men with their machines is so detached

from the cycle of Earthen life:

mothering,
arriving,
hatching,
latching,
nursing
feeding

raising and rearing.

protecting.

the products of men with their machines are fertilized with phosphate, nitrogen, ammonia, urea
unironically sourced from the Fertile Crescent
shipped via the Strait of Hormuz
because their forefathers, not foremothers, strip-mined the soil of Turtle Island, barren, a hundred years or more, ago

you manifested your destiny !!

so,

happy-and-proud Semiquincentennial,
dear western european Whitey ////

do you know that there are sod
“farmers” (the audacity)
pumping twelve hundred gallons of water per minute
and
burning through thousands of gallons of diesel fuel per week to grow rolls of invasive and needy green lawn

for your new housing construction subdivision along a fucking golf course that used to be forest or wetlands;

for the Obama Presidential Museum concourse — also along a golf course, which used to be entirely public parkland, which used to be World’s Fair grounds, which used be swampland and dunes and oak scrub and The fucking Lake;

and for a golf course — in the fucking desert /////

i buy bags of white and red clover seed
to spot-patch this damned turf grass that i have cursed
and also fought to reclaim for some prairie for eight years, now

i pee outside in an old Cafe du Monde chicory coffee can behind the barn
and hope
that a coast guard helicopter
or prop-plane doesn’t fly-over too low
mid-stream
this is immediate and regular fertilizer,
a soil amendment — that i alone supply //////

on this second saturday in May preceding “Mothers’ Day” — “mothers’ day weekend”

there was a quietly-announced local niche seedling sale
an “if you know you know”
but imma tell every mother and motherfucker i know

and,
hey mom, hey Jessie,

what should i call you, now?

i wanted to tell you
i finally perfected
that creamy garlic salad dressing we loved and craved
from Addison Steakhouse,
or La Villa, or Mr. Steer, in Chicago, a once- wild onion field

but you’re not here,
for me to tell,
and you don’t know this poem exists

and you don’t even care to know,

and worse, Jess, you don’t even know to care

that i write/wrote poems
or
prose
or
prose poems

you manifested,

and you lost every one,

and you lost me –

your only child.

so, i will keep looking for a fawn
nested in the grass this

this mother’s day weekend

instead of

Continue reading “fawn” →

Mother’s Day: also a day for the children of mothers

On By ©️K.T. 2026In biographical, Crone, exposition, Home, maiden, Mother, Mother's Day, Motherhood, WomenfolkLeave a comment

motherhood and childhood are complex, complicated and heart-expanding, heart-breaking and heart-full journeys — but mostly elusive destinations, in our rose-colored or cracked rearview mirrors /

today is an exceptional day for revisiting motherhood, childhood and mother-child relationships //

Mothers’ Day, for many mothers and children often feels unbearable from physical loss or heavy with physical absence; it may be pregnant with disappointment, misunderstandings, unrealistic or unmet expectations; reminiscent of failures, judgment and estrangement;— or worse, it may be painful with the memory or ongoing experience of neglect, abuse, betrayal or disownment ///

these golden beings that we, mothers, carry and birth from our bodies and raise up with our arms and hearts into a world that is too often, dark and heavy /

mothers were once golden beings too //

mothers can be|come dark and heavy worlds too ///

Continue reading “Mother’s Day: also a day for the children of mothers” →

Lamentations of Birth and Exultations of Re-Birth: An ode of the birthed and mothered on Mother’s Day

On By ©️K.T. 2026In aeidein, Birth, Gospel of Thomas, Incarnation, Irregular Ode, Mother, Mother's Day, Motherhood, Nag Hammadi, Nag Hammadi Library, Ode, Rebirth, Reincarnation, The Thunder Perfect MindLeave a comment

Lamentation and Exultation

I am spirit
Though not pre-conceived;
I was conceived; and pro-created;
I contained knowledge, and
I was known
I did experience,
and I remembered; but
I was then birthed, and
I became human; so
I was mother’d;

I was mis-guided;
I was injured,

I was mis-judged; and
I was so scarred

I became ignorant;
I became blind
I forgot experience;

I became animal
I fell asleep and
I became unknown;

I too conceived; and
I pro-created
He too was spirit
He too contained knowledge;

I birthed him ignorance
He too was experienced;
He too remembered
I was the witness; but
I was still blind’d

I was still sleeping;
I then mother’d, and
he became human,

I then mis-guided,
I then injured,
I then mis-judged
I then so scarred;

I saw the death of one dear before me;
and then,
I remembered;
I was re-wakened,

I became un-blind’d;
I sought my [lost] knowing
I reclaimed my experience;

I forgave the mis-guidance
I so sought forgiveness;
I forgave the mis-understanding
I so sought forgiveness;
I forgave the injury
I so sought forgiveness;

I understood ignorance, and
I so sought re-knowing:

Those who are born are meant to be born;
Some who are born, though, choose to be born;
Most who are born though, have no choice to be born;
Most who are unborn; are not meant to be born
Not meant for this time; not meant for this World;
Those who have birthed, those who have fathered, have re-pro-created error;

Still there are Those who were sung into exIStence
Those are the Ones who chose to be born;
Now those who were birthed, not sung into existence, must will to re-member,
must choose to re-birth, to become re-known;

I re-membered mySelf, re-birthed mySelf
Now,
I am beginning to become re-Known.

Jesus said: “When you see one who was not born of woman, prostrate yourselves on your faces and worship him. That one is your father.” – Gospel of Thomas (15)

Jesus said, “The man old in days will not hesitate to ask a small child seven days old about the place of life, and he will live. For many who are first will become last, and they will become one and the same.” – Gospel of Thomas (4)

Jesus said, “Take heed of the living one while you are alive, lest you die and seek to see him and be unable to do so.” – Gospel of Thomas (59)

A woman from the crowd said to him, “Blessed are the womb which bore you and the breasts which nourished you.”
He said to her, “Blessed are those who have heard the word of the father and have truly kept it. For there will be days when you will say, ‘Blessed are the womb which has not conceived and the breasts which have not given milk.’ – Gospel of Thomas (79)