The opinions expressed in this article are the writer’s own and do not reflect the views of Her Campus.
This article is written by a student writer from the Her Campus at UC Berkeley chapter.
Her mist eyes hung low at the kitchen sink,
Left facing down at the home’s disarray.
Deserted in her vast ocean to think,
Until the apron hung on tight like clay.
Her waves cradle her children’s continents,
Swallowing their sand in roaring tides.
Under the moon’s amber glare and conscience,
She shoved away ancestral whispers’ guides.
Sailors coasting her harbor fair warning,
For her waters’ abyss veils the past’s ruin.
From men’s desire to tame her swelling storm,
Mother rifts ships from her tempest’s doing.
Becoming forgotten she drifts in strife,
From mother’s daughter, elixir of life.
