In the kitchen late at night,
my mother takes care of an injured wild bird
to show her daughter how to love.
I bathed my mother’s cold and still body
as best I could.
I started the fire and went outside
to watch my mother’s warmth
rise into the tree, into the birds, and the sky.
I have a face that only a mother can love.
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In the kitchen late at night,
my mother takes care of an injured wild bird
to show her daughter how to love.
I bathed my mother's cold and still body
as best I could.
I started the fire and went outside
to watch my mother's warmth
rise into the tree, into the birds, and the sky.
I have a face that only a mother can love.
Do you too?
How miraculously poignant
is the love a son can give his mother,
especially a son who knows he has the face
that only a mother can love.
If only we could bottle that tenderness
and give it away on street corners.
But of course we can.
One of my teachers is a tree by a meadow.
I think it is also the teacher of my teacher,
and the student of our great, great,
great grandfather ancestor
which must be the reason I am here today.
Sister Thuc Nghiem
Plum Village, France
