All posts filed under: Poetry Archive

When I Think of my Mother

I love my mother I will love her forever I think. She is the only – mostly the first not the only, but what difference does it make She is the only (first) woman to be love and pain and Discipline and fun and wonder and knowledge to me. For me, she was once life or death And every time she chose me, life for me, life with me I can’t help but love her for that She was the woman who taught me to love myself. My skin. My mind. To celebrate all that made me, me. Because she celebrated all in her. She taught me to love my blackness “it’s brown” she said “because it is the colour of The earth and my skin” The first poet For that, I’m grateful beyond repair She is love In every way, with hugs and kisses With meals and cups of tea With smiles and frowns The love of something deep, strong, true To give and to love. Me, my blackness, all I could be She …

Mother & Daughters

Our foremothers Were  told That stars appeared On the bottom of Hot boiling vessels. And then came our mothers Who let the chiffon chunni Slide off their Henna filled Audacious red scalps When they ran Behind buses To get for their daughters Small lumps of sweets & letters packed in tattered newspapers In their purses.   Her purse, Which always smelled of A little of soap, sweat and her. Oh how I longed For that smell Every evening While I waited, For the stars to appear In the sky Thanks for reading! If you enjoy Raising Mothers, please consider making a one-time or recurring contribution to help us remain ad-free. If even a fraction of subscribers signed up to contribute $1 per month, Raising Mothers could be self-sustaining!

Hope Floats

Envision this want-to-be, an airship like a bitten off piece of cathedral cake ceramic, concrete, shale, earth and water lancet arched stained glass windows bits of filigreed fenestrations balletic balustrades tenuous turrets from which to fling wide your arms above factory fumed air in unglazed sun those tattered undersails mere décor dove dodge and wind guides nothing to do with propulsion scooping ventilation by kilns and kitchens and those fan blade rotors like flat umbrellas, floral, windspinning, whirrers must be for some other cooling or warming directing air to heat rooms creating thermals because the tethered vessel is so soaked with buoyant magic it must be tied to the ruins from which it sprang, the remains of its making … an exegesis of ecclesiastic architectonics is this defiance a maundering mobile majesty, a monumental heresy housing children of dreamers, rabbit ready angel spawn who learn the star spangled sky as alphabet, resonate and respond to air currents rockabye baby sailors raised, by this village vessel of good cooks and caring creatives through love to be …

Silent Chaos

Using only the moon’s ripples as navigation, Marina and her daughter make their way to the U.S. Several centavos in her pocket jingle with each footstep north. There is a silent drumming within her.  Her hair is matted. Her eyes, dark and collected like rain clouds. Her feet are cozy for now, but her soles are thinning fast. Fear, a wild river, courses through her body. Propels her. Her girl’s cold hand in hers. She doesn’t hear it, doesn’t even know it exists yet, But that silent drumming maintains the tempo of her pace. She is running on one tired prayer and the reminder of small raisin-like bruises on her inner thighs. There is a silent drumming within her. Thanks for reading! If you enjoy Raising Mothers, please consider making a one-time or recurring contribution to help us remain ad-free. If even a fraction of subscribers signed up to contribute $1 per month, Raising Mothers could be self-sustaining!  

foster auntie mommy knows

tonight your hand had to be on my cheek after laying in front laying beside climbing over and laying behind it’s been hard for you to sleep lately your little mind troubled your little heart broken your little face straining sometimes draining sometimes lighting up and cracking open in a blink tomorrow you go to school a new grade a new teacher a new chance to be proud and loud as we live through this hard and wondrous time Image by Katerina Holmes Thanks for reading! If you enjoy Raising Mothers, please consider making a one-time or recurring contribution to help us remain ad-free. If even a fraction of subscribers signed up to contribute $1 per month, Raising Mothers could be self-sustaining!