Unlike Yitzhak,
How could I ever
Have been weaned
Given that I never fed
On any breast?
It is no surprise,
That in this hunger,
I take up
Far too much space.
Tzimtzum has not yet been
Embodied in me.
Embodied in me.
What I crave
Is Rivkah’s milk,
Nurturing Gevurah,
As it is let down
By way of differentiation.
First comes Binah’s
Mothering womb
Before Yesod’s
Act of connection.
Words of Hesed,
Loosely spoken,
Reek as spoiled
When Gevurah
Has abandoned
Her softened place.
Any “I love you”
Like water, uncontained
Can have no form.
And the muddiness
Obscures the way.
In the midst of thoughts
Like these,
My mother’s hummingbird
Comes, as she always did,
To me
To feed.
There are no hard edges
In the awe of the Divine.
I am both
Mother and child.
And in her death,
More so than in her life,
My mother
Wants to
Suckle me.
