A Poem For My Carrying.


I wrote this poem while I carrying my son back in 2021. The forcefulness of it still sits with me, a little more now as I lean into the nature of its true meaning in the practical act of mothering. As I re-read these lines, especially reflecting on my journey with postpartum depression and anxiety, I find evident how much truth I spoke into the atmosphere through my words, and how these words sustained me without my mere knowing. What a beautiful thing, I think, to be reminded that the source of my strength always comes from within, setting the path before me, preparing my heart and soul for battlefields before I even cross them. How divine, how holy. 




An offering from mother to son — the ninth month:

I must show you this land. I must show you the fabric of my body,

woven together by our God who divided the earth and seas.


I must speak to you in my native tongue, tell you of all the languages 

I have ever tried to learn while holding daffodils on my breath

and weeping under a crescent moon.


I must take you to all of the places that I have gone in mourning,

show you how I have sewn my wounds and stuffed my scars with daisies. 

I must show you all the flowers that I have grown with these gardening hands,

all the life that I’ve commanded in barren places.


I must show you my bones, show you this spine that holds me together,

the same one that has carried evening and has seen dawn anoint the horizon.


I must show you where I go to meet God, s

how you the grounds that have held my knees,

for they know the sound of my prayers.


I must show you your mother,

all her glory and all her storms.


[Purchase the book of poetry here — Beckoning of the Wind: An Ode to Motherhood]


From one mother to another,

Mariah Maddox