/ thank you martha /

I think
I finally see her now–

Small,
and terrified.

She gathered stones from
sllings and catapults,
smooth ones, sharp ones,
and built me a house–
a place to lodge, to stay.

She climbed knolls and humps
that led nowhere.
Yet she returned
with buds and blooms
for me to keep, to tend.

Her humdrum symphony,
low and looping,
shielded me from
the danger of silence–
the silence of closed doors.
The echoing void–
the void down the empty hall.

She kept a list
stitched behind her rib–
each small task,
each thin chore,
an answer to a question,
a cure for an ache.
A rhythm steadying my half-beat heart.

Her grind,
her toil,
tended the smoke and flame–
a small fire just enough
to make offering possible,.
and held my faith tegether
in the only way I knew.

You got us here
you kept me safe,
with your heart
half beating.