mother.

for my mama, for all mothers, for Mother Earth, for the feminine & nurturing in all of us.

Bri Chapman

May 09, 2025

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she is the serpent

she who sheds

she who protects

she whose belly

is rooted in the Earth

…

she is the gatekeeper

the one inside

guarding the wild

the muddy

the menstrual

the sexual

the primordial

let her rise

let her move

let her create

as she was meant to

watch her -

full as the tide

ripe as the blooming peony

steady as the jaguar matriarch

in her rightful territory

…

she is the original alchemist

turning cells into life

turning water into milk

turning love into fire

turning blank spaces into home

turning daily routines into seasons

of belonging

…

she is the flame

that can never be extinguished

she holds the codes -

of creation

of the lineages

of the stretch beyond time

beyond space

…

she is the wolf

you feed under your skin

she is the bones

of your grandmother’s grandmother

the reach of your arms

the span of your hips

the stride of your step

the curl of your lips

…

she is the scream

and the silence

the song

that shaped your bones

that gathered your scattered pieces

and gave them back to you

in order

…

she is not one body

she is not one gender

she is possibility

she is the dark before the light

she is the fertile void

she is the threshold

she is the in-between

between what was and what will be

between collapse

and rising.

…

she is weather

she surrounds

she shapes

she leaves no trace

she braids grief into her hair

and still

she dances

she boils bones

into broth and balm

she feeds us

the marrow of memory

she is the eye of the hurricane

the softest part of the storm

the safest place

i’ve ever called home.

Author’s Note:

Leading up to Mother's Day, I wanted to explore how we relate to mothers—not just as caretakers, but as powerful, creative, transformational beings.

In a time when so much is demanded of us, it’s easy to overlook the everyday miracles mothers perform.

This poem is shaped by many voices, named and unnamed, who have impacted the way I understand the maternal force.

Some of the language was inspired by the writing of Xochi Balfour on Substack, particularly her reflections on the mother as serpent, gatekeeper, jaguar, and original alchemist—who turns cells into life, water into milk, love into fire.

Other lines and phrases in this piece draw from or paraphrase the work of the following writers and poets, whose work resonated deeply with me and I want to acknowledge with profound gratitude:

I am the wolf that you feed under your skin. I am the flesh of your wild mother, the bones of your grandmother’s grandmother.
— inspired by Clarissa Pinkola Estés, Women Who Run With the Wolves
“It’s in the reach of my arms, the span of my hips, the stride of my step, the curl of my lips.”
— Maya Angelou, from Phenomenal Woman
“She gather me, man. The pieces I am, she gather them and give them back to me in all the right order.”
— Toni Morrison, from Beloved
The mother is not a single body or gender. She is that which births possibility. The blackness before light. The fertile void.
— inspired by Bayo Akomolafe, from These Wilds Beyond Our Fences