Another Fucking Learning Opportunity

They were the teachers of mothering

my children each

of how to sooth the tears

of how to feed their souls.

They taught me the look

that could stifle their errant acts

and the twinkle

that fevered their play.

They showed me

their growth required

ripping of inflexible bonds

So that elastic love could grow.

And they gifted me

with their offspring

a new kind of love

deep and quenching.

But they didn't

prepare me to feel

the pain of their mortality

how could they?

For their lessons

of love are the fantasy

of how we imagine

a natural order

They show me

with no intention

that life is not a script

but a journey of gut wrenching lessons.