Poem: "Ritual of Safe Passage," by Lynn Ungar

There is no time when you are ready,

no point at which you say “Ah, today

the world and I are fit for a child.”

When the angels told Sarah

she would become a mother

she laughed.

 

Mary told her cousin:

“My soul magnifies the Lord”

but in the moments of the annunciation

her first thoughts gave a whole new

level of meaning to the phrase

“Holy shit.”  That’s OI.

 

That’s why God invented faith.

Motherhood is proof of

the only article of faith you need:

There is enough love.

There will always be enough love.

 

Even at 2am when he won’t stop crying

and you begin to understand

why a parent might hold a pillow

over a tiny, screaming face

for just a few moments’ peace.

Even when the only word she says

for two solid weeks is “No!”

 

Even when he wears studded leather

and purple hair to a funeral

or crashes the car

or runs off to follow some band

called “Death by Rats”

there will always be enough love.

 

For all the mothers who tore their hearts

deciding not to bear a child

or not to raise one,

may this wanted  baby be a prayer.

For all the mothers through the centuries

who did not survive the trials of labour,

may this healthy mother be a prayer.

For all the babies who did not manage

to draw that first solitary breath,

may this baby’s birth-wail be a prayer.

 

For all of us, for the world

which is wracked with labour

which is daily cracked open,

which is always ready

for something new to be born,

may your lives be a prayer,

the only prayer that ultimately matters:

There is enough love.

There will always be enough love.