THE MOTHER'S LAMENT
Yakut, 01/02

In Spring you will find me In the scent of narcissus and hyacinth In the slightly lengthening days and renewed warmth of the Sun In the bubbling waters of streams and the high tides of the ocean In the greening of the willow tree And in the joyful cry of the lapwing seeking her mate And the gallant courage of the upsurge of all new life. In Summer I am the poppy, both red and white And the opulent black-red rose I am the golden corn, the lush green grass And the calmer, warmer seas of shimmering cobalt - inviting I am a she-wolf, well fed for once Lying in the sun, I smile and play with my cubs I am long, lazy days and warm passionate nights Under a canopy of stars. In Autumn I am each leaf that falls - gold, orange, red And every bloom that withers and dies I am the ripe apple and the sweetest blackberry - Protected by thorns and hidden from view I drowse amongst the half-stacked sheaves at Harvest And give myself up to my lover without struggle. Ripe and juicy - I am also the call of chill on the wind warning of cold and darkness and lack to come. In Winter I am the cry of both crow and corncrake I am bare, black branches, severe against the opaline sky The wuthering of the wind and the lashing, sheets of rain I am the life-giving ocean waters tossing wildly and roaring, Now become freezing, black and lethal. But I am also the frosted spider's web sparkling with impossible intricacy And the rasping breath of the she-wolf - three days now with neither food nor sleep As I hunt for food for my one remaining cub. Throughout every season, every life-cycle, Of every being, in every place I am constantly expressing and being Feeling and holding Sacred space I am/feel all that there is or ever can be Yet the whole world seems to hate my face Despised, enslaved and used am I In every heart and every place.

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