Your mother was young—
A Poem by Rebecca Brenner
From Wayfarer Magazine, Issue 42»
Your mother was young—
barely over the shock of you.
A daughter with wounds
stitched over creation.
She fumbled breasts
into your small, searching mouth
unsure what they would give—
her mind a menace.
A tattered cloth heirloom handed down,
tangled threads from her mother,
and her mother before.
She loved you with quaking bones,
hoping you would know.
And you—small and wise—
felt it seep through her skin,
understood the weight of things
before you knew the words for them.
And you drank that love,
terrestrial waters, sweet and bitter both,
embracing the weight of this life,
unable to destroy the world’s origins
set deep into your marrow,
silent and true.Rebecca Brenner (she/her), author and mindfulness meditation teacher, has been featured in TIME, LA Times, and Tin House. A journalist for TownLift, she co-founded Mindful. Summit County and serves on Summit Pride’s Leadership Team. Her memoir-in-verse, Paper House, debuts with Wayfarer Books in Summer 2025.
