For Mama

She showed me the clouds and how to walk on the ninth one. A dreamer. In the absoluteness of her mind, no barriers exist within existence as if her battles have been won. I think she craves to fly, past those clouds---another possibility to make possible, a challenge to challenge. Or dream about. She probably thinks that when I complain I cannot see the clouds, the way she did when things got rough in life. Of course, I beg to differ. She dreams. I live. I don't keep my eyes on clouds all day as if there is nothing else to see to make me understand the world better. I suppose I'll rest one day, exhausted by the what-ifs and whys, while Mama smiles and points upward.