Holly Brians Ragusa
1 min readMay 9, 2021




A mother’s love

Bottomless emptying into babe

Pouring forth into human

Adulting. Toddler. Infant. Mine.

Mirroring countless devotions

Not enough smiles.

Too many tears

On faces memorized

Mesmerizing. Mine.

Worried over in wasted time

Love. The word incapable

Depths unfathomable reached

Trials. tempered and tested

Theory in play daily

Tasked to be all and still more

And also less than is needed

Or required

Is required

To be made small and feel ferocious

Protective mama bearing her young

Harried hastened forgetful

All within an hour in her kitchen

At her desk. On her date. Still

Never ending the career

Each mother shapes

Into her making

If ill equipped to hang a moon

She scales the sky

Angles the stars to shine

On her children

On the children

Warmth radiating from

The fierce furnace of a Mother’s heart



Holly Brians Ragusa

Poet-Author-Family Ringleader- Late Bloomer- Advocate for Arts/Ed/History/Kindness #FactOverFiction #HelpHumanityGoViral #AmWriting She/Her