The Sea Cave of My Mother

When I was young, after my father died,
I sometimes longed to burrow down, and sleep
inside my mother’s womb, where I could hide
within my life-source, cradled in the deep—
where she could hold me safe from further pain
and I could keep her always pregnant, filled—
instead of empty, broken, spent as rain.
I thought that I might stop the waves that spilled
into her chamber, flooding her with grief.
There in her sea cave, my life had been willed;
my father’s fish had found and formed her reef
into a place that I could find, rebuild—
into a landscape where we three were tied
and I’d return, as part of what had died.

And I’d return, as part of what had died
into a landscape where we three were tied,
into a place that I could find, rebuild—
my father’s fish had found and formed her reef.
There in her sea cave, my life had been willed—
into her chamber. Flooding her with grief,
I thought that I might stop the waves that spilled.
Instead of empty, broken, spent as rain,
I could keep her always pregnant, filled—
and she could hold me safe from further pain
within my life-source cradled in the deep—
inside my mother’s womb, where I could hide.
I sometimes longed to burrow down and sleep,
when I was young, after my father died.


Annabelle Moseley's "The Clock of the Long Now" front coverThe Clock of the Long Now treats the subject of time in many forms. From myth and ancient scripture, to a clock that will keep time for the “deep future,” to time travel made possible through an historic house, and the light of poetry, this collection is a pilgrimage through measured time to sacred time. Written completely in sonnets, The Clock of the Long Now reminds of the individual clocks each of us carries within us always, the human heart.
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