A Mother and a Poet

“You do not have to choose

one or the other: a dream or a dreamer, the

bird or the birder. You may be a woman of

commotion and quiet. Magic and brain.

You can be a mother and a poet. A wife and

a lover. You can dance on the graves you dug

on Tuesday, pulling out the bones of yourself

you began to miss.”

– Kate Baer

This month, we’ve been thinking about motherhood. Not as a single experience, but as something far more layered.

Because for some, this season is full. For others, it’s complicated. Some are in the thick of raising children. Some are longing to. Some have lost their mothers. Some are navigating relationships that were never what they needed them to be. And some have built entirely different versions of care and connection that don’t fit neatly into a definition.

Motherhood is not one thing. It’s biological, chosen, shared, and sometimes deeply felt in its absence.

And still, there is a kind of care that shows up again and again in our community. In the neighbor who checks in. The friend who remembers. The women who hold space, who carry more than anyone ever sees.

And it’s heavy.

Not in a way that needs pity. But in a way that deserves acknowledgment.

So much of this work happens quietly, behind the scenes, without applause or recognition. But it does not go unnoticed. It shapes our homes, our neighborhoods, and the way we care for one another. It is the thread that holds so much together. Here’s to the mothers, the motherless, the mother-figures and every nuanced layer in between. Happy Mother’s Day.

Your neighbors, 

Shaleen and Sam DeStefano