Mom and God

Sometimes, when I can't sleep, I remember
other twilight hours when, gripped by sudden wakefulness,
I'd creep from my bed, past my two sleeping sisters,
and see my mother, Holy Book open in her lap,
completely absorbed in prayer.

Normally distant and stern, she was changed by her quest
for her place in the infinite,
became softer, and more beautiful.
I loved her desperately at those moments,
wanted her attention and affection with
an ache of longing not yet satisfied.

But I feared her too.
In her silence, she seemed large and knowing
as the God to whom she plead.
So I'd tiptoe back to bed,
pondering the presence that owned her
far more wholly than I.