Live Oak
She came to us on a lazy Mother’s Day afternoon,
carrying the story of our family between her brow.
The passages of the births and deaths of our Ancestors
Etched in lines on her hands and face.
Grammy always knew the real you,
and never pretended to be more than she was.
She came from a time when our generations
were not so far apart - when paid day cares weren’t a thing.
It’s always free in Grammy’s kitchen,
because the night shift pays enough
to keep the lights on,
and gumbo has a way of stretching.
She knew how to remember the old
stories of our family.
She came to us with a golden memory, and a heart with room for all of us to live.
From her body
and inside her Spirit.
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Also in Poetry
Molle
The apology and promises of reconciliation just weren´t enough
neither the peppermint mocha or assortment of numbing agents,
they couldn´t erase
or cover up
how broken she was.
Pieces forgotten and long lost
among st the rubble and emotional wreckage
of the generations
Ylang Ylang
…Stormy nights I woke
to the scent of you visiting me yet again,
Meet me there - our place - on the illuminated
plateaus
where creation and humanity meet.
