The Source

mother VII

This poem dedicated to mothers’ everywhere.

Their hearts, registered
as infinite beacons,
have gone gently
and luminously into nights
not so good and pitch-black, braving
flytrap folds and god-awful rows
to soothe, mend and
restore the bruised vitals
of daughters and sons;
they go, infused with bright rage,
green force driving home
nocturnes and hymns–I will sing for you,
child, in your gravest moments of fear,
when mirrors forcecast darkly,
follow my notes, gonged and trilled,
lisped and cracking, a gospel rush
of crumbs guiding you, measure by measure,
into the milkdeep arms of safe harbor.
When lost, we set our compass
to Mother, the truest needle forever pointing North,
a fixed constellation
wedding orphans
to an infinite charge,
how light travels
at the incalculable speed
of love.
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About John Biscello

Originally from Brooklyn, NY, writer, poet, spoken word performer, and playwright, John Biscello now lives in Taos, New Mexico. He is the author of two novels: Broken Land, a Brooklyn Tale and Raking the Dust, and a collection of stories, Freeze Tag. His fiction and poetry has appeared in: Art Times, nthposition, The Wanderlust Review, Ophelia Street, Caper, Polyphony, Dilate, Militant Roger, Chokecherries, Farmhouse, BENT, The 555 Collective, Instigator, Brass Sopaipilla, The Iconoclast, Adobe Walls, Kansas City Voices, and the Tishman Review. His blog--Notes of an Urban Stray--can be read at johnbiscello.blogspot.com. Broken Land, a Brooklyn Tale was named Underground Book Reviews 2014 Book of the Year.
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