The Weight Of Mother's Heart

Nestled there beneath her heart
listening to the waves crashing
with futility upon the curve
of her ribs, the sturdy piles of the mystic wharf from whence
I launched, ever mindful of
the rush of that sacred river
the clink and clatter of
myriad things discarded there
feeling the weight of it then
upon my small shoulders
like purpose embraced
a tiny, untried Atlas,
O mother, what darkness
you loosed upon the world
when the moorings slipped
and off I went, already
wet with worldly tears
and all the words I heard
through walls too thin
like fish hooks caught
in flesh, that can only
be removed by first
pushing them deeper