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by Kayla Bach

When I am crying or rejected,

the Mother accepts me

into Her arms.


They are warm,

and strong,

and real.

They are everlasting

unlike the job

or the relationship

or the program.


She nudges me ever so gently

telling me

Dear One

this one is not for you

but there is another

It is right there

Keep walking.


So when the path bends and the fog clouds

Mother nudges

She cajoles

She whispers

She wipes tears

She says,

ever so softly,

“I know. I know.”