aum mata
aum kali
durga devi namo namaha
shakti kundalini
jagadambe mata
attuning to the primal creative force
in her fiercest forms
calling to her to devour our demons
and remove what blocks us from her and others
clearing the channel
and awakening our dormant potential
manifesting it in the world
Voles in my garden.
Tiny baby rodent toes
mouths suckling at the air.
Curled around themselves.
Alone.
In fear.
Did their mother
just birth them?
Is she off
looking for food?
My baby wants to keep them
as pets.
He places them gently
one by one
in a shoebox
with some dirt
and shredded newspaper
and sets them
on the porch.
I don’t
want to put them back
in my garden.
They will eat my potatoes.
I must feed my child.
There is no one to help me
do it.
He plays a video game
as I carry them
under the full moon
to the field
by the railroad tracks
near the river
and set them
in the grass.
A dull rawness in my heart.
I look into the moon.
“I’m sorry”.
The moon just stares back
cold
and clear.
I drive back home
to feed my son.
As he eats his dinner
of french fried potatoes
from the freezer section
he says –
“It’s not really the same,
is it,
Mama?
Some animal mothers
won’t accept their babies back
if they smell different,
right?”
His eyes search mine.
“I don’t even know
if vole mothers
really love their babies”
he questions.
“Maybe
they just reproduce”.
My eyes search his.
“No, it’s not really the same,”
I assure him.
“It’s more just instinct.”
I pause.
“But then,
maybe love
is instinct”.
We are silent.
And hold each other’s gaze.
At night
he sleeps
with the sole
of his foot
pressing
into my leg.
I press back.
In the morning
I overcome my fear
and go back into the garden
to dig some more potatoes.
There is no damage
to my garden.
Just a fresh
empty hole
tunneling into the earth
in the spot
where I had spilled the little nest
into the dirt.
I pause for a moment.
And recognize.
Her love.
Her sacrifice.
Her loss.
Maternal instinct.
Then I fill in
the little hole
with dirt.
And just keep digging.
Fresh new potatoes.
The bright blue sky
acts
like it is any other day.
Little pieces of childhood
falling out
making room
for the adult versions
we must maintain
to keep
nourished
for a lifetime.
Placing
discarded
childhood treasures
under our pillows
dreaming
when we awaken
they have turned into gold.
asato ma sat gamaya
lead us from the fantasy to the truth, from the unreal to the real
tamaso ma jyotir gamaya
from the darkness, the heaviness, the unnecessary seriousness, to the light
mrityor ma amritam gamaya
from the fear of things ending to the recognition that all things transform
aum
blending into the underlying harmony
shanti, shanti, shanti
experiencing the peace that comes from tuning in to that harmonic
deniseporterkemp 