mamasaur’s table

Listen to the silent ask.

Let it pull me to my feet and stretch me into helping hands.

Remember this is Mama, holding a stack of plates in one palm and homemade tortillas in the other.

This is how she reaches me.

Be careful when I empty her of the things she needs to give.

Take what she has offered.
This is her grace.

Set the table for everyone, but do not forget I have a space here, too.

Tell her, if she asks why it has been so long:

I am not running away. I am running toward. I am exercising new muscles, so I can hold my world in stronger hands.

Tell her:
I am trying to live like you.

I am trying to set a table of my own,
where I take what I have and feed what I love,
where I am included in what I love,
where I am as sacred as the first meal that fed me,
as sacred as everything that has ever held nourishment for me,
as sacred as…
you.

I am trying to set a table of my own–
where I empty and I pour,
and I give and I grace,
and I always, always, leave full.

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