Poems From Beginnings by Carol Lynn Pearson

Carol Lynn Pearson is one of my very favorite poets. I picked up her book, Beginnings, from D.I. last week and have been devouring it ever since. I tried to pick a poem to share with you, but I could only narrow it down to four. I hope you enjoy them as much as I have.
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My Season
by Carol Lynn Pearson

Seeing the tree
Beneath a baptism of snow,
You may call her barren.
But is it so?
And for all your watchings
On a March night
When the twigs seem dark
And the bark
Feels cold to your hand --
Can you call her fruitless
And so leave?

She smiles,
Calm in the station
Of seasons
And in the ordination
Of sun, and sap, and spring.

As for me?
You turn away,
Impatient with the promises you've seen.
But -- inside I fill
And pulse and flow
With the urgency of green.

I've a season,
Like the tree.
And all your
Faithless doubts
Will not destroy
The rising spring
In me.

The Woman
by Carol Lynn Pearson

God fashioned me
For feeding;
And set me in
A hungry land.

I give --
To satisfy
The unconscious appetite
Of the unborn,
And the child's
First thirsting need.

I give --
To be
Sweet sustenance
To aching man,
And then
Quiet comfort
To a weary, wanting
World.

There is much
Hunger here.

Oh,
Father -- fill me,
That I may nourish
Generously.

Mother To Child
by Carol Lynn Pearson

Look --
Your little fist
Fits mine
Like the pit
In a plum.

One day
And one size,
These two hands will
Clasp companionably.

Help me, child
Forgive me
When I fail you.
I'm your mother,
True,
But in the end
Merely an older equal
Doing her faltering best
For a dear
Small friend.

The Weaning
by Carol Lynn Pearson

There is cloth now
Between you
And my breast --
Cloth
And a little pain.

This is the
Beginning.
I take your face
In my hands
and guide your gaze
Away, out there --
To the fruit trees,
To the stars.

My arms,
Though empty,
Fold comfort
To a mother-heart
That yearns for nursing,
Yet knows that weaning
Is the bigger part.