Christopher Columbus' Mother

How can a mother prepare
for all the voyages
that the moon will take her on
when she splits her belly in two;
reaching to the ends of the heaven
for so much love?

Flat as the Earth is,
the heart hooks herself
to the west winds
and sails to some unknown place
with her son
who knows nothing
about the sea;
the womb of all creation
defying logic for swelling waves
that constantly heave and roll.

There is no map
for the place you will travel now.

This chaos of leaving
is nothing like the sleepless nights
with a boy who cried for your breast.
You were alone then
as your body ached
to heal,
abandoned and lost,
no land on the horizon,
no stars to guide you.

The rocks were so near
you could taste the iron
and feel the grit of loss
on your tongue.

When the explorer leaves you this time
with a warning that he may never come back
from the fires and flood,
you grieve in all the ways
mothers do.

All we can manage is to pray
and watch the edge of horizon
for some simple sign
that we have done enough
to bring them home
when their journey toward nothing
is done.