The shipwreck of motherhood,
your body is no longer the alter at which I worship.
It is now a shrine,
Sundays are rare, the merging of our beings even more so.
The scars of birthing remain at your mortal shrine,
A living testament to all you have given me.
I am home when I am here.
My flesh is short lived,
but you have furnished me with immortality.
It is that which will sustain me through my seemingly eternal slumber.
I dream of rebirth.