His earliest memory begins
with the hush of his mother’s hands
holding him close before bedtime,
ends with a song she hummed
him to sleep with before she left.
He grew like a stone fruit tree
whose limbs were pruned
when the plant was a sapling
to raise strong branches for bearing.
Now he knows the song was a prayer
she released into the world
so his older self might remember
what her hands had felt like
when he knew
he needed them most,
so he might hum the same song
to conjure her
from the same realm she conjured him:
from the blush of her own prayer
before she knew how to pray.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 16, Issue 2.
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