Day in the life of Mother

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Once
Mother awoke
from her slumber,
she must have felt lonely.
Perhaps the carnation shrivelled,
or the water had all dried up. Maybe
the fawn turned deer or the cacoon was
left empty. And so, amidst mud and dirt, she
moulded her first companion. To fill her barren
existence. Incompleteness. And so she birthed the
fecundity of creation. At some point humanity took his
first step. Mother must have been very pleased. She held
his hand and told him her secrets. She pointed to the night and
promised her sisters beyond would guide him when lost. She showed
him how the sticks and rocks birthed flame whose embers would shield.
She pleaded with the winds to be gentle. She begged the storm to have mercy.
She loved him so much; fed him, warmed him and nurtured him. Her gift to him of life.
But humanity grew up. He loved Mother but didn’t need her. And so he left. No
longer did Mother need to lift the stones; he climbed the mountains. He
built homes on the paddocks she had flattened. He slaughtered docility.
He roamed, reaped, and raped. The towering forests now beseeched
him. The sweet air had turned bitter. The fruits blossomed without
choice. The sky was forever bright and soon he conquered flight.
And he thought to himself "Now I have become god" He
had sucked Mother’s breasts dry and left her nothing
but scars. And now that i lie in bed, i dream about
what a weird honour it would to be Mother. To
have woken up and chosen life unlike her
celestial cousins. To have birthed things
so gentle like mayfly but also man.
Has she ever thought to smother
us? A fire, a famine, a flood?
Who knows? But that is all
too much. i am not mother.
Tonight i choose to
forget and go
back to
sleep
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