I am just a Girl

Some days I still feel just like this.

I am a Composter

I'm not quite this good yet.

But I'm getting there.

I am a Mother

For my oldest child, this requires compassion, for she feels things deeply and needs a good listener to guide her while she talks to understand herself. For my next child, this requires tenderness, for she is as delicate as a flower and blooms with ease and beauty that would be lost to a harsh environment. For my son, being a mother requires love and strength, because leading out and showing love come naturally to him and a balance of the two is masculinity. For my baby, I am a Siren, for music is her language and without my song to guide her, how would she find her own? And for the possibility of children who live yet in my Spirit and my mind's eye, being a mother requires something of sacrifice and trust and a place such as this, to keep the things that are me, so that I will have more of myself left to give them when they need me.

How Do I Love Thee? (Sonnet 43)
by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight For the ends of Being and ideal Grace. I love thee to the level of every day's Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight. I love thee freely, as men strive for Right. I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise. I love thee with a passion put to use In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith. I love thee with a love I seemed to lose With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath, Smiles, tears, of all my life! and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.

I am a Laundress