My Am Is Mother
My am is the link, the mother unfolding.
Into my womb forms from infinity cling
Until ready to re-enter fresh,
Their shield flesh.
Force that brings nature to man.
Yet nature I – creation my husband.
My am is mother. I am the womb man;
I hold in enfoldment all parts of the whole.
I start, impart, I render fresh
Heart-new, re-entering flesh;
New choices, martyrdoms,
Chances to reach from sensual crumbs
To final fulfillment.
I am the merger, love, the converger;
The ohm, the shoal: energy’s soul.
My am is the face of the force.
As mate of creation, death too.
My am is mother.
I am the womb man betrothed to enigma.
Ensconced within, en route to some class,
First slapped on the ass but graced with grace.
They’re born re-faced.
My am is love waiting on the above.
Counted, numbered,
Named and de-slumbered:
And fixed to know or not know,
Because it is so –
I am the fixer, the mixer,
The mother, the womb man.
Death too.
©My Am Is Mother 9.1960/1995/2004
Circling Round Woman; Circling Round Nature;
Birth, Death & In Between; To The Child Mystic; Mother Book;
Arlene Corwin
Arlene Corwin Poetry 