The Spring Tide of Motherhood

A poem on emerging from the cocoon of birth into the beauty of the blooming world.

Cara and her son Arlo in the Costa Rican Jungle

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This week’s poetry feature is written & narrated by

Cara Amy Goldthorpe

as part of our Witnessing the World Come Alive poetry submissions series.

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The Spring Tide of Motherhoood

Six weeks have passed, and 
I’m emerging
from the cold, death of my
maiden years
and the healing cocoon 
of birth
a flower bud ready
to bloom

Most days are spent
variations of the same 
staring at the trees
swaying gently in the breeze
you’re clutched at my 
breast 
my son, the sunshine
warming my heart 

Nature reveals
her potent mirrors
we slowly venture outside 
my feet bare on the earth
I tend to the garden
in sporadic gasps
with what little extra time
and love I can spare

We’re forever expanding
each day a little more 
the sacred Ceiba seedling
beneath which we’ll bury your placenta
has three new leaves
like the three of us
dawning into our lives
mother, father and child 

The birds whistling
at first light 
— after the clutches of night 
begin to thaw —
speak of rhythms, we’re finding 
as the snows melt
a springtime song
unwinding 

Each step I take further
and further from the nest 
is blessed with new wonders
I see a little clearer
the golden Damiana flower
on a cutting made last autumn 
when you were but a cherry
in the womb 

Petals unfurl, as you’re
curled in my arms
the forest speaks
a butterfly weeps
tears of joy and relief
though there is some grief
for the version of herself
that’s gone

But the beauty keeps rising
on the tides that are turning 
echoes of the frosts, the waters
so nourishing
for the garden of our souls
and the garden all around 
together, we are
the Spring