I was looking for a bluebird. A bluebird of happiness. I have been looking off and on for some time and have never been able to find just the right one. And all of a sudden, while scrolling through Etsy's search results for bluebird, three words got strung together in my brain and I was reminded of my mother. Bird. Hand. Love. What's interesting is that bird actually has nothing to do with it.
"Love in the open hand, no thing but that,
Ungemmed, unhidden, wishing not to hurt,"
These are the words that are etched into my mother's headstone and now that I am a mother and fill many other roles in my life, I understand it on a whole new level. My understanding has deepened, as has my understanding of how she might have felt about her young children. As I have said before, what I have kept most from my mother is the love she left for me in my heart. Below is the full poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay. And, one of the few tangible things I have of my mother's is a poetry book of hers by Millay. I cherish it.
Not in a silver casket cool with pearls
Or rich with red corundum or with blue,
Locked, and the key withheld, as other girls
Have given their loves, I give my love to you;
Not in a lovers'-knot, not in a ring
Worked in such fashion, and the legend plain—
Semper fidelis, where a secret spring
Kennels a drop of mischief for the brain:
Love in the open hand, no thing but that,
Ungemmed, unhidden, wishing not to hurt,
As one should bring you cowslips in a hat
Swung from the hand, or apples in her skirt,
I bring you, calling out as children do:
"Look what I have!—And these are all for you."
~Edna St. Vincent Millay
