Ruth Belen

To my mother, you are loved.

To my mother who bled for me, in worse days tears shed for me, birth pains had you sweat for me, love.

To my mother, my dove. God’s bird who is in plain sight, rain or shine bright- takes flight up above.

Growing up, your view on me was bird’s eye, quite possibly third eye. Endlessly watching while spreading your wings to swoop down and wrap me with hugs during hard times when they were most needed.

To my mother, no matter the distance or matters of instance your love goes the distance, your love

still remains like a heart beat, instantaneous without thought nor control.

To my mother I love, you have missed me. I’m far from home and it bugs you to not be close to the sons that you love.

But know, my mother, my love won’t stop- not over some thoughtless grudge.

Know, my mother, my love can be sensed like a touch. Sensed like a scent you’ve picked up, not like cents that you’ve spent but like sweet smells of incense you burn in memory of the love that you have for your sons.

You carried me, hope God won’t allow you to bury me. I know you don’t like those dark thoughts of…

But what of your wonderful love?

My worst moments, hurt moments, times you wish you could have put me in the Earth moments, the ocean holds no depths compared to your love.

If I dragged you through hot coals of burning embarrassment, if I slapped your face hard with my shameless garishness, know that I’m sorry and I cannot stop wanting your love.

You don’t forsake your sons. You are selfless with love. You are helpless in love with your sons and for that we are flaunting your love.

For that you have taught us true love. True love to be passed to our loves. And through that I do owe you my love.



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