Mother of Mothers Hear My Sorrow


One day at San Agostino,
awkward tourist in a way,
sheltered from the searing heat,
exhausted from a summer day,
... outpoured my scorched soul
falling at her feet.  

Praying with lifeless words,
wishing only to weep,
no tear to wash my pain,
no gift to look toward,
no memories to keep,
no sweet gentle rain,
no flower,
no life,
no God to ordain
that special touch,
that matchless bond,
that little person,
to ease this pain.
"Why, why do I not bear a child?"
"Why has it been more than a little while?"

Women's tears before my day,
had stained this holy shrine,
begging you the mother Virgin
of Child-bearing divine.
Sweet votives in tiny paired shoes
and happy cherub faces,
all bragged of hope and
miracles in twos.
Let me conceive, O holy God,
"have mercy on me, LORD,
for I have trouble; Yes,
in my body and my soul!" (Psalm 31:10)
"Consider my affliction, deliver me,
for though I won't forget You!" (Psalm 119:153)

Didn't you, O holy virgin,
pray and dream of life?
Can you, dear mother, see me, too,
and take me to the Font?
Bent here like your daughter, as I drink the holy water,
can I know He’ll send me ... the child whom I want?

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