Mother, sweet woman.

Sometimes the earth trembles, sweet woman.

Sometimes the earth wakes up from its deep slumber,

remembers the kisses

that turned into islands and mountains,

rejoices and spits out birds.

Sometimes the wind carries a bitterness

that bites the bark off trees

and spooks the nesting geese,

but the warmth of your hands is enough

to mold clay, 

to carve blocks of wood, 

to wash clothes,

to sew the garments of fate.

Sometimes, your voice on the phone, 

or your ruckus raven laughter

is enough to open up heaven around your head;

and you have enough light in your eyes

for another bright spring in the midst of winter,

you have enough sweet rain

to give the cup a voice,

your spirit is so young in your old age that it calls 

the clouds to rain down feathers for those newly created birds.

Sometimes the sea will run across the clouds, sweet woman,

how you ran across the desert, burning feet, burning heart, 

tears of mother and daughter falling on the sand

growing flowers no one will ever get to smell.

Sweet woman, your unforgettable smile is my sky.

From your womb I emerged, to demolish hell

and carry your torch of eternal love.