My Mother

Cancer took you away from me;

but I still can hear your voice;

When I hear you say my name,

my heart begins to rejoice.

Your struggle started the day you were born;

and you were betrayed and raped at five,

raped again at fifteen or sixteen

but still grateful to be alive.

You were such a beautiful Black woman;

so, many men came and went;

but they left you with progeny

whom you loved and cared for 'til the end.

I remember the stories you told to me

that took place when Blacks were fighting for our rights,

how a White woman thought she could, disrespectfully, talk

to one of our matriarchs during that time.

I remember the story you told

about when you stood up to that woman with no fear,

how you chopped her down

despite the power White women had in those years.

I remember the stories you told

like when you worked in the houses of Whites,

how you stood against the racist rules

and demanded your equal rights.

I remember the sad, sad story

about your grandmother and mine,

how you suffered the pain of her death

because, of a drunk driver who cost her her life.

A drunk driver hit my great grandmother

knocking her many feet into the air;

a woman drunk behind the wheel,

who should never, in that case, have been there.

I remember your stories about phenominal events,

things happening to you unexplained -

like when you were knocked out of bed as you say

by something that remains unnamed.

You were lying there with my oldest brother

when he was just an infant, you said;

and something, a spirit, an energy, a jinn,

pushed you out of the bed.

A hairy hand that came through the window;

A creepy eyed woman walking the streets;

An African woman's reflection in the mirror;

Your stories in my heart to keep.

I remember all the things you did

for my sister and I when we were young -

taking us to events, the park,

the library, any place we could have fun.

I remember when you read us books

at a time when we couldn't read;

I remember how you did your best

to cater to our every need.

I remember you being my mother;

and I remember you being my friend;

In all the days I live in this life,

I'll never find a you, again.

You were given to me for a short time;

but it was long enough for me to know,

that if death is the only way for us to meet again,

then I surely am prepared to go.

You are an angel that doesn't fly;

You're a queen without her throne;

You're a mountain that never stops getting higher;

You're a diamond no one can own.

You're a garden of roses and butterflies;

You're a soft blanket with the tenderness of a bunny;

You're a song that never ends;

You're a comb with the sweetest honey.

You have left your impression on many hearts;

You've proved your point about your value and worth;

You've been a blessing with a powerful purpose

since the very day of your birth.

I'll bet you've gone so far in heaven;

I wouldn't be surprised;

For I've seen the results of your true colors

since the day I first opened my eyes.

A LETTER, A POEM DEDICATED TO MY, BELOVED, MOTHER. AND I DO STILL HEAR HER VOICE AND SEE HER FACE. I CANNOT WAIT UNTIL I SEE HER AGAIN. I WILL MISS HER AND EXPERIENCE HER SPIRIT INSIDE ME UNTIL I DO. SHE IS THE PERFECT WOMAN FOR THIS OPEN LETTER/POEM.