This is one of mine, written last year, hopefully worth repeating as they are on my mind today.
Make it Better
When I think of God as mother She has the darkest skin
Black coffee, licorice, bittersweet chocolate
The skin of Eula who carried me, who rocked and changed me,
Of Catherine who stood me on a stool where I mixed boxes of Jiffy Cake
In a bowl, flour everywhere, messes wiped up magically:
Her broad nose, the Great Mother, Her strong arms and capable hands
Kindly guiding when we go astray, Her deep voice raised not in anger
But in a song that calls us home, where a kiss will make it better.
(With Eula at Virginia Beach, Sept. 5, 1961)