Judy Beene Myers
We walked with others
in silent meditation.
Her ebony feet blended
with wood floor’s golden grains,
like coffee with cream.
I wanted to drink it in;
those roots of herself,
that damp clay of earth’s essence,
that seed from which she sprouted
springing upward
like the dark barked tree
of my childhood.
Single file.
Me, the elder.
Her, the child.
My diminutive frame guided
her tall, straight stature.
Rounding the circle,
radial energy drew me
to this soul daughter;
her sable skin earthier
than my own olive shell.
Two of us.
Child-mother.
Mother-child.
Evidence of emergence
from earth’s womb of creation,
visibly witnessing
The Great Motherhood.
Author’s Note: “I co-facilitate Writing Intensives for my Sangha, Appamada. This is a poem I wrote remembering one of the participants afterwards and since we have become soul friends. I am grateful.“
