The Mother



Abortions will not let you forget.

You remember the children you got that you did not get,

The damp small pulps with a little or with no hair,

The singers and workers that never handled the air.

You will never neglect or beat

Them, or silence or buy with a sweet.

You will never wind up the sucking-thumb

Or scuttle off ghosts that come.

You will never leave them, controlling your luscious sigh,

Return for a snack of them, with gobbling mother-eye.

I have heard in the voices of the wind the voices of my dim killed children.

I have contracted. I have eased

My dim dears at the breasts they could never suck.

I have said, Sweets, if I sinned, if I seized

Your luck

And your lives from your unfinished reach,

If I stole your births and your names,

Your straight baby tears and your games,

Your stilted or lovely loves, your tumults, your marriages,

                aches, and your deaths,

If I poisoned the beginnings of your breaths,

Believe that even in my deliberateness I was not deliberate.

Though why should I whine,

Whine that the crime was other than mine?

Since anyhow you are dead.

Or rather, or instead,

You were never made.

But that too, I am afraid,

Is faulty: oh, what shall I say, how is the truth to be said?

You were born, you had body, you died.

It is just that you never giggled or planned or cried.

Believe me, I loved you all.

Believe me, I knew you, though faintly, and I loved, I

                loved you

–Gwendolyn Brooks

To Be Found

We stumble in darkness

warm bodies fumble at frilly things

like love’s cold hands

Feeling for a place to pour into

Trust is reckless

and we’re all strangers here

close enough to touch

desperate enough to connect rushed

relationships to broken parts

We’re bats blind at birth

hugging the walls to get a reading on self-worth

The id & ego are jokers

bouncing around with sneering red pokers

Who were you rigidly tapping

betting on to be your eyes

in this life long search

We’re more afraid with every breath

waiting for that little death

screaming a language unspoken

just hoping

to be found



Letter To My Son

I wrote this in High School, but I dedicate it to my Mom who’s having my little brother…

In case you didn’t know

You see me and make me feel warm

In a world so cold

Like me I guess

So all I can give you is my very best promise

That child these hands will hold you

Until the world stops spinning

Falls off its axis

In another life I was queen

And you will have to accept your destiny

Rule your land

Run your kingdom

Raise your kings and queens to feel compassion

And never regret your bold decisions

Trust them and no one will question

But son do not worry because we were soldiers

Fight with valiance

Only use defiance

When your heart will not allow you to follow direct commands

Fear is an option         Combat commands it of us

Be afraid of the capability of your own hands

Against another

Because you should always first and foremost love your brother

We were slaves

I remember the way you didn’t you didn’t cry when the boat rocked and I remember the way your hair smelled

You kept me from leaping

I was a teacher

You must learn to be a student

Respect me and I will respect you

My job is to harangue  preach  and give speeches

When I feel its necessary

Your job is to listen

Understanding is your greatest tool

And your mind is your greatest weapon

Because it is the only thing an enemy cannot destroy

And son if you remember nothing else

Remember you are descendant of artists

Poetry is your native tongue

And music heats your blood

You have the eyes to see the colors of the grotesque beauty of the world

Cherish who you are and what you can create

And I will always be here for you