if you could see
my mama standing
in harlem, at sunset
the cruel wind
threatening
in vain
to rearrange
her natural hair...
you'd know this woman was
a rare & beauteous
poem...
a bare roots
boogaloo-philly dance of
a poem
a joe tex, al green
otis redding listening
poem... a sweet-
potato pie, chitlins
grits & gravy
deliciously rich type
poem...
a my man's gone
but i'm still
standing poem...
a whatever
doesn't kill me
makes me a
stronger poem...
a hand on her hip
'boy don't you give no shit'
daydreams are
forbidden here...
it's truth or
consequences
& oh yes, a fearless
poem...
a please... address me as
"Your Majesty" cuz
'i used to be
a queen
& can't nobody tell
my spine
any diff'rently' poem!
if you could see
my mama standing
erect
after the shit tude
this america's
dumped upon her
shoulders, you'd say...
'DAMN!
if that ain't superwoman...
then she sho nuff
must be some
kinda gravity-
defying... strong
fierce, defiantly
black, keep on
keepin' on...
i got your back
poem!'
One.
by L.M. Ross
**originally published in Painted Bride Quarterly
Happy Moms, Momma's, Mumsy's MaMi's, Mamacita's & Baby Mama's Day to all!
One Love.
Lin
