It was a healing pain,
a cleansing pain.
One last gasp,
and a life came from a death.
Death of the selfish,
of the self.
I am mother,
not because I gave birth to life,
but because of what was birthed in me:
a healing pain,
a cleansing pain.
And here,
before his wise innocence,
I die everyday,
and am birthed again,
again,
through a healing pain,
a cleansing pain.
The paradox of motherhood:
sometimes he is the child,
and sometimes I.

//Healing, Cleansing Motherhood
//Collette Kristevski, 3/16/2019

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