My Mother is Sweet Honey

My Mother is sweet, warm, sticky honey, clinging to all my dry brittle spaces.  She fills them with her warmth.  She runs downward covering the bitter dryness of my emptiness, sweetening the acrid tastes of my crosses I carry.  She nourishes with her nectar and golden glow, reflecting the light of her Son and she is sweet, melting the places of my greatest emptiness and mixing with them making them pure honey as she is pure. 

 

My Mother is a warm, sweet, melting pot of honey sticking to the hands and hearts of all who bask in her gentle flow.  My Mother is beautiful and golden like the honey in the comb; fragrant and nourishing, pure and unspoiled.  She clings to my hands so that all I touch is left with prints and traces of her sweetness, sticking and clinging to everything as the sign of her loving presence.  She gently melts away my walls of bitterness and mixes her love with them making even my bitter anger sweet and beautiful with her transformation. 

 

My Mother is sweet honey, warm and satisfying.  She is the honey in my heart.