Crying for my Mother

The words ring empty, empty, empty,

In the hollow chambers of my soul.

We have a Mother there.

But where?

My body shakes, the tears come fast.

To know the Father is life eternal.

But the Mother: nameless, faceless, and voiceless

Is too sacred, too protected for her daughters to know.

“You just don’t understand”

The answer comes fast,

With a pat on the head by a well-meaning hand.

You’re right. I don’t understand.

I don’t understand a Father

Who forbids a Mother to run to my aid,

Who keeps her in some hidden chamber,

And withholds her very name.

So I wrestle and plead and cry and hunger

For some answer, some balm to soothe

The aching, the longing, the gaping hole

The hole in my soul.

Oh, Mother, where art thou?

And where is the pavilion that covers the place where you hide?

I stand at the door and knock. 

But this veil is like looking through a glass, so dark, so dark.

I sought for you in divine words, scouring the pages,

And couldn’t find your name.

I sought for you in holy places, surely you would be there.

And in those lovely, quiet corridors I was empty and alone.

I am hurt and alone and weak,

Like a child after a bad dream,

Crying for my Mother,

For a glimpse of a divinity that looks like me.