As I lay awake
The Goddess strokes my hair.

“There there,” She says,
Singing me a lullaby of lightening bugs,
A symphony of stars.

She gathers up
The past that haunts me
In Her calloused hands,
Weaves it into
A meadow of wildflowers
And gifts it to the Universe.

“Thank you,” I murmur,
My eyes finally growing heavy,
Tear-stained cheek
Sinking into Her forgiving love.

She hands my gratitude back to me,
Stardust pressed into my palm.

“It’s just what mothers do.”

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