I was put on this earth
to put you on this earth, dear girl.
I was put here
to pry open the ribs of an ancient love,
to bend bones back beyond myself until
the Beauty insisting on acknowledgment
broke me open.
I was put here
to pull myself apart,
to do that…
to break wide open and let you out.
Nothing more in this life is necessary
nothing more important
nothing more vital
nothing next
nothing to come.
It is this.
This is the heart of it.
This is the art of it.
My God!
My Lord!
Motherhood shows no mercy on the ego.
Motherhood slays all of the dragons of
what “I” could be,
should be,
would be.
I thought; therefore, I was.
I was so foolish!
I had no idea I was
waiting for you.
My marriage to entitlement was
a fantasy of grand things.
Things I sensed I deserved
big language,
big words,
big letters,
after his big name.
Then, one night, after everyone had gone after all the men had left (again),
I laid all the big words down and stood there with you in my arms, and we saw each other.
Black-brown eyes the size of saucers gleamed back at me. My girl, my world, your beauty braving its way through your tiny frame with fierce conviction and total independence. You looked at me with the wisdom of an old woman as if to say, “Here we are again, can you believe it?”
I stood there,
laughing with you
and felt
everything.
Stood there.
Stayed there.
Stayed here.
I stay here.
I stay put.
I was put on this earth
to put you on this earth, dear girl.
Walker Ladd Art 