What every mother prays for
when the day begins
when she rises and stares out
over the field of grass,
the dew dripping,
the oncoming sun
over the hilltops

is…

for her child to not be hit by a truck today
for no calls to come in the night
for no bad news to hit her in the morning
when she’s out walking the dog

She’s ageless and all ages,
this mother, tender young hands
pressed against the glass,
capable middle aged hands
cupped around a hot coffee,
weak elderly hands spotted
and grasping at bedrails

23 and pregnant, awaiting
the sonogram and the sound
of a heart beat, 95 and lying
in a lift bed awaiting the next
visit, 45 and her child off
to college, 55 and in a far land
while her child adventures
half way across the globe,
28 and her child sleeps
down the hall

for her child to do well to be well
for her child to do no harm, walk
in this world, be a flower waving
in the sun

What does the mother of a tulip
in a field of flowers pray for,
the mother of a peach in an orchard
pray for, the mother of a butterfly
on its coastal journey pray for?

for her child to have great partners
to be happy, to have only
a warm sun shine down
in a pleasant land
of misty morning rain
on that child’s upturned face

for the world to go
gently on her child
for there to be no dark
days no hunger no anxiety
no broken bodies
no illness or sorrow
no loss of innocence,
of faith

and so she waits
in that moment
before the sun rises
between one breath
and the next
suspended in her own
innocent hope.

Janell Strube © 2025