I kneel in your shadow,
Abashed and afraid,
Awe overcomes me,
But I must see your face.
Ancient lined visage,
Features sage eyes,
Gnarled fingers, they cradle,
The souls of our tribe.
Your flawed apprentice I may be,
But certain sure in my blood,
My genes,
My serotonin-challenged schemes,
I feel your quick,
I hear your heart beat,
I learn your tricks.
You live no more upon this Earth,
But silver gray swirls,
Of hair, hippocampus,
Have been handed down to me.
I feel you in my blood,
My brain,
I struggle for balance,
I fight to be sane.
You inform my hands,
When I touch others’ woes,
I tasted your knowledge,
Thru my mother, you know.
I have made my own bargain with air,
I cannot make myself not care,
I have saved, I have killed,
I’ve been mistaken and I have been ill.
Devastated, grappling with,
Evil spilled inside my core,
Yet by your succor in my dreams,
I’ve remade myself as clean.
I live in wait,
For the next vital test,
And resolve,
To offer up my best.
Mitochondrial mother,
Please heal me too,
That I may be,
A pale shadow of you.
Paula Lyons, MD
2010