the planter

faithfulness is a garment that my mother puts on every day
when she rises just a few hours after she has gone to bed
and washes sheets and calms my grandmother
who has iron-grip wrists
and vivid dreams that melt over the present
rhythm on rhythm

she is like a tree planted by streams of water
whose leaf does not wither
and says she has found joy.
in all that she does,
she lifts up her hands.
she raises us.
she calls me Son Finder,
not just sunchaser,
and never tells me I am too old to cry.

i have caught
so much of her vibrancy
and fire
but watching her learn to bloom
in the ordinary
and live by dying
to her own self
year after year
to find joy and peace
that harmonizes with
her passionate heart
is to see & observe
Love.

So many years from now
Long after we are gone
These trees will spread their branches out
And bless the dawn
– a.p. ‘planting trees’
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