Period.

To the mothers who inherit a name greater than sons and daughters, Happy Mother’s Day.

 

Hannah had her 

period

in cycles

like

infinite loops 

of the same death

sentence: you

will never be a mom

period.

are a barren stump

period.

always period.

never a comma. 

a period.

no exclamation. 

But blood led Hannah 

to worship, though wordless

her life His

period. 

Apparently periods aren’t periods

in the hand of God

life soon swam inside

and Hannah’s song

echoed history’s halls

and Mary’s mouth, the Magnificat 

filled the mother of Messiah

he was a barren stump

cut off before bloom

no descendants, doomed

to death sentence

period.

But on a bloody, barren tree

became fruitful womb

birthing children 

from every nation

filling the mouths 

of would-be moms

with 

a more magnificent song:

“By His blood

I am the mother

of many sons and daughters

By His blood 

I am honored

both child and mother

period.”