Poems By Lynn Morgan Rosser

Lynn Morgan Rosser has told her family's story through poems and prose. She has over a decade of experience as the mother of two sons, both with complex and extraordinarily different issues. Her eldest son has severe autism. Her youngest son has a major congenital heart defect that required three open-heart surgeries for survival, plus many other procedures. "In the Womb of the World" was her first collection of poems, and is also included in this volume with "New Beyond" to give voice to the journey from the beginning. There are also photographs taken by both herself and her son with autism. Rosser's poems bring up the emotional core of special-needs parenting, revealing the light and shadow of walking that path.

 

 
 
 
You slipped into the womb
 
You slipped into the womb
Like a thief
And stole my innermost joy
When you were born
You gave it back to me
Multiplied
Into galaxies
And all the worlds of
Impenetrable Being
Lined up like pearls
That became your teeth
The dimples on your cheeks
Were ripples in gravity
The curvature of time and space
The bow of your mouth
The point of your chin
The arch of your brows
The crow crinkle and twinkle
Of eyes like wide windowed universes
Filled with stars and wonder
My baby, my baby
If ever I doubt
There is your smile
Like the birth of suns
 
 
 

Prayer Flag

(Sea Poem II)

 A winding journey
Down a grass lined path
Bare feet tickled
Ankles scratched
Toes digging into soft hot sand
Sharp shells
Smooth rocks
Pressing into
Wetness
Slickness
Then the sea
Cold water
Sweet breeze
Swirling around my legs
Cutting the heat
With wings
Arms outstretched
My hair unfurls
A prayer

 

After The First Pain
 
After the first pain
Shock
Numbness
Unreality
This is all a dream
Illusion
A startled breath
A feeling of swimming
From a great drowning depth
I'll wake up and it will all be okay
Mist dissolved by light of day
But the only waking up
From this dream
Is to be dead -
So I live
Hoping I'm as strong
As I need to be
As you need me to be
As I am
I hold lives in my hands
So small
Their needs more
Important
Than mine
And that is the secret
To getting out of bed
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Hope

Hope rests like a snail shell
In my hand
A spiral of growth
Any growth
Is precious
And worth
The blood -
Hope
The antidote
To the void
Keeps my heart
In my chest
And beating
Drop by drop
It whispers
"Where there is yet life,
Where there is yet love…"
Hope rests in
The Hand of God
Where I have placed him
My little shell
My offering
That he may never be alone
That he may always find
His way
Home.
 
 
 

 

In The  Silence

In the silence
A purple wound
Bleeds
Loss and fear
Turn liquid black
And drip down my chest
A subtle poison
It bends my back
Adds age to my face
And hands
Constricts my throat
With soundless tearing
There are no mortal words
Not 'agony'
Not 'pain'
Nothing explains the
Intensity
Not even 'grief'
Or 'birth'
One must speak with
The tongues of Angels
To know how to express
The express-less
One must be God
To put language to
Such a hurt
 

 

 

 

 

Yet seeing the bright eyes
Eclipsed
Shadowed
Brilliance
Shining
Only
Around
The
Edges
What mountain must I move?
Can I heave the shadow of Earth
From the path of the sun
To have radiance burst forth
That the world may see
The light-filled face
Of my son?
What ocean must I drain
To hear his voice
Speak
And call my name?
What star must I pluck from the sky
To see him shine?
To hear his thoughts
Flicker and glow
Flashing from his small mouth
A stream of comet commentary
Trailing through the dark
What word is too small?
 
(In the silence) 

 

Companion

Smooth stone
Weighted in my hand
Curved like my hips
Arched like my spine
Softened surface
Broken eons ago
(Before hips and spines
And sorrow)
Rough, raw, crude
Tumbled endlessly
In roiling currents
Sanded and scoured
It traveled slowly to my feet
I picked it up
Gave it the peace
Of my jacket pocket
Carried it home
My soul worn and thinned
From the abrasions of life
From the slow polish
Of spirit
I felt sympathy
For its journey
My companion
In the process
Of turbulence
And grace

(created from the Write Your Heart Exercise 1)

 

© 2009 Lynn Morgan Rosser

 
   
   
   
   
   
   

 

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