When I was born, you loved me
Even though you knew that I was Death,
Or would be, one day. You laid me
On a bed of moss, never mind that in days
It would be dry and rotting. You smiled,
It mattered, not, there would always
Be more moss. You made it your business,
Finding new unspoiled places
For me to spoil, as I lay
Kicking my feet and staring
Up at the sycamore leaves. I was silent
Even then, so you said, but you held me
To your breast, and you were so full of life
That I could not drain you
With my best baby efforts.
You were fierce and proud of me,
Eldest and firstborn, yearned-for child,
Combed my hair, thinning on one side,
Caught me buzzing beetles to play with,
Black, orange, companions to this day.
I could have sprouted horns and five tails
And you would have loved me like a bonfire.
When I was nine, the changes began.
My skin began to stink and slough,
Yet I was healthy enough. I could speed my change
Till one hand clicked no more than bone, then
Bring it all back to bright flesh again.
Like the child I was, I experimented,
And you told me to stay out of the kitchen
Until I was done playing, dressing up in rot.
I saw the others in our tribe change too,
Wolf like my brother, tree and deer and blackened crow
But no one was like me. You
will be special,
You said. Someday. Don’t
fear.
The day they took you from me, burned you to ashes
Strewn around a half-charred heart, I felt it –
The tie breaking between mother and daughter.
More, I knew in that moment that I would never
Bear children, as you had done. I would never
Hold a living babe to my breast, and my mother was dead,
And I wanted nothing more than to see you, one more time.
So I walked the long road through the snow to that black gate
Long closed, and as I grew closer my flesh fell away
And the ghosts came to see me, but never you.
I found that you lived, thanks to my father,
But there was no going back, except as Death.
You came to me, then, looked around my realm,
Told me to clean it up well, as you had taught me,
Told me to look after my people, as you had shown me,
Embraced me again, and told me you were proud.
There was no one else who mattered to my cold heart,
Whose opinion I cared for, save yours,
Mother of Monsters, Mother of Serpents,
Mother of Wolves, Mother of Warriors,
Mother of Death who could love Death like a daughter.
May I sing to the heights of the quaking Tree
Of the glorious strength of my Mother’s love.