The Price of a Mother
They warned me of sleepless nights,
tiny shoes and lullabies.
No one warned me hearts grow taller,
or that silence echoes louder.
Not death...
That grief is honest.
This is loving someone
who simply chooses
not to come home.
Another headache.
Another flu.
Another promise
that falls through.
How strange the sickest days
always seem
to arrive
when they involve you.
I gave you everything—
my youth,
my strength,
my dreams.
I filled your life
while emptying mine.
I taught you kindness,
grace,
humility.
Somewhere along the climb,
you forgot
the hands that lifted you.
Now I'm
"not your kind of people."
Funny...
I used to be
your whole world.
Motherhood is a bargain
only a mother would make—
giving away pieces of herself
to raise someone
who may never notice
what's missing.
Maybe one day
you'll understand.
Maybe one day
you'll hear my silence
the way I hear yours.
But by then...
"I'm sorry"
won't bring back
missed birthdays,
empty chairs,
or borrowed time.
Because the saddest truth
I've ever learned is this—
"I'm sorry"
doesn't rhyme
with anything.
Parts of me are deep as the seas
Black when mad green when envious
Blue when sad and lacking love’s liquor
There was a time when in yellow youth
I sang satin songs with a silver silky voice
How naive I was to believe in denim dreams
Then red heart beat boisterously brown
And you couldn’t tell me music wasn’t it
That I’d not be a star some distant day
Then beautiful life happened and I grew
Desires changed as well as violet virtues
For mahogany motherhood is full of stars
Stars who create church hymns as lullabies
And original purple praise dances at
Babies firsts the first smiles steps words
I learned that only two men would ever
Love
Me
My God and
My
Son who is indeed my sun
The journey of my inner soul has been
Eye opening and full of lessons
Licorice lessons in black love
Lemon lessons in loss
Lavender lessons in peach patience
I no longer grow turquoise taller in height
But in spirit in mind perhaps
A little more wise
The desert that is my love life
Has a beautiful cactus flower
That only God can touch
I am content
You've never known how much your life saved mine
growing up I never felt the love of a real family,
not even one time
depression consumed my mind
and then the day came that changed my entire existence
I found out I was going to be a mother
and in that instant
the darkness disappeared
and the world became so much brighter
scared but so damn excited
I knew I'd finally had a purpose..
a reason to not give up
n become a fighter
like for the first ever
the universe threw me some luck
I fell in love with you as you grew
feeling you wiggle and move in my belly
I felt a connection I'd never felt before
and when I held you in my arms,
it was like I saw the reason for the beauty of every galaxy & star
it was the most eye opening moment in my life by far
you are so amazingly perfect
in everything and every way that you are
creating you was my sole purpose in this dimension
having the honor of you being my son
is the definition of a blessing
There are Mamas everywhere,
Hanging their head,
Not many snacks in the kitchen.
There are Mamas with sore hands,
From keeping them happy and fed,
As well as all else that comes with the job.
There are Mamas everywhere,
Who think they're alone,
Feeling less while they're building.
Judgement moreso from within,
Suddenly, perceiving growth,
Comes in glimpses only.
There are Mamas everywhere,
Ones just like me,
Who are beyond grateful for the luxuries.
The conveniences that others enjoy daily,
Aren't something we see,
Though we see our children.
There are Mamas everywhere,
Paving the way for the future,
Struggling now and thriving later.
We are learning with our hands,
Confident to calling though unsure,
We deserve what we dream of for our tribes.
Her heart
Soft as dawn, she hums the lullaby,
hands that mend small storms and tie loose bows.
Her spirit
Bright as noon, she teaches courage, maps, and truth,
laughing at skinned knees, cheering every bold step.
Her soul
Deep as night, she keeps the quiet watch
a steady lighthouse, fierce and tender,
foundation of home.
When the cries of a baby come
Women dance to beating drum
Welcoming the child with smiles
Bringing powders in their styles
When the black baby smiles
He lights the way like fireflies
And leaves man grinning till he's blue
Holding his hand in his view
When the black baby grows
He brings joy wherever he goes
Playing games of hide and seek
Taking man’s name to the peak
When black baby becomes a man
He finds his way and brings forth Obian
Another black baby he bestows
Giving man all that glows
Her hands on hips— arms as handles, steadying the frame,
anchoring her impatience, calmly controlling the game.
Her stance, composed, yet defiant, as disappointment shows,
in the tilt of chin, a scolding glare, a brace to enclose.
She lets the tempest flare and roar, then quells the rage,
with her body commanding and coaxing - to persuade and assuage.
Her love keeps no ledger of what's been done right and wrong.
Her will, steadfast, long-lived, enduring, reliant and strong.
An eyebrow raised, a glance, a glare, can make bravado bend.
Her posture speaks before her tongue, calling disquiet to end.
Flowers beneath my feet
Happy clouds above my head
Barefoot and pregnant me
By emerald emotions I’m lead
Walking into motherhood
Like a deer caught in headlights
Feeling optimistic and good
Despite first time jitters fright
Will I be enough as babe blooms
Can I do motherhood right
Baby in my blessed womb
I’m excited to give you life
I worry about the world here
That it may not be so safe
But God doesn’t give me fear
Whenever I kneel and pray
I feel your lovely little limbs
As you swim in my tummy
Looking forward to your whims
And making faces so funny
Growing you I grow with you
In spirit in every delightful way
I love you as big as the sky blue
Excited to hold you one day
As I walk in the grass so green
I look forward to your arrival
I will give you love in entirety
You are my heart legacy tribal
The naked woman is lying
on the chocolate floor,
stretching her hand to meet
that of her lifeless child.
Look at her
the agony in her eyes
as she sheds her final tears.
"My child!"
she screamed in despair,
for the chances she missed
to love him more.
See his battered skull, like ogbono,
his skin like cassava.
What brutality is this?
A shredded piece of the land I fought for
Where is the mother land you speak of?
Where is the honey flowing?
I have searched a thousand years
for melted happiness.
I am no queen,
but Lord, dear Lord,
save this poor child.
It was a mistake
for me to bring Ben.
Eleven-year-old boys
and birds don’t go well
together.
I took two pairs
of binoculars
in the hopes that he
would bother to look
in a pair.
The sky was tumbling
it’s full gray clouds
in a frantic tussle
over our little wet
heads and peering eyes
that scoured the trees
for anything singing.
“There is no bid
fallout!” Ben complained
with his arms pulled
inside his tee shirt sleeves.
He looked cold
and cranky.
“Did you hear the goldfinch?”
“They all sound the same.
Can we go home now?
The same birds are in
our backyard.”
The rain dripped
unevenly off
the thousand petals
of a dogwood tree.
Is anyone other than me
seeing what I see
right now?
before you go
this is one for the ages,
and Shakespeare
I couldn’t complete
The cuckoo clock for Ben
a woman smarter than me
could have
times infinity
squared
and back again
spontaneous rhyme is fun
when you win
the race is run
Spontaneity
they are exceptional
If you will
shut up and listen
before you do
and examine
Van Gough's
'Stary Night'
burning bright
and hopefully
meaningful
see me
and infinity
the stories
behind the art
are the definition
of infinity
"Somewhere in time,"
(not the movie)
poetry
became a narrative
for recording
memories.
It must have been this evening
at my son’s first band concert,
the winter one.
(It was full of songs:
the ones I don't remember,
except for
'Spicy, Chicken Sandwich.'
It was the one
with lots of drums,
and his trumpet).
I told him so,
afterwards.
He was
somewhat less
than interested.
On our way home,
he made me laugh.
My line was:
“I filmed every song, honey.”
His line was:
“Yeah, well
I played every song,
so…”
The “lost in translation”
translation:
"I am a sixth grader.
Everything
you say and do,
mom,
is embarrassing,"
I am the proud:
“Village Idiot."
My mom used to say that
about herself,
when I was his age.
Blessed is the mother
who gives, and gives,
and then writes a poem
to know she still lives.
Tiny heartbeats resonate with mine with every breath taken in unison --
You dwell in me as much as I in you.
Sweet summer child mine, I don't know any different than to be yours -
The world loved you at first sight while I fell the moment I felt you in me.
Silence
Nine long weary months waited in distant awe with a cradle,
Empty ears of motherhood longing for the long shrilling cry—
Sound
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