In Memory of My Grandmother
Bertha Wallace Farr
"Rhozidichichron seeds, they ripen not,
nor do they thrust and heave up to the sun,"
my mother's mother dreamed. One night she shot
bolt upright in her bed. "I am the one,"
she thought, "for the annunciation of
a secret that was sealed like the tomb
of that boy God, descended from above,
who placed that seed that ripens not." Her womb
was in her mind that dark of night. She wrote
it down and then she fell asleep. Perverse!
When morning came, she looked down at her note
and saw the secret of the universe.
The Dreamtime universe may be a game,
but God puts seeds in mothers just the same.
Copyright - Robin Ridington
October 14, 2008
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