Ode to my mother
Whose feet were hardened by Philadelphia sidewalks.
Mother whose heart mid-beat
Has been frozen by tears–
She is the sweetness
of the last droplet of dreamsicle
Condensed in the corner of the wrapper
Smile crooked.
Grin wide
In defiance,
Lover of lilies
Orchids, roses
She is the Embodiment
of burnt orange sunsets and the awe that they insight.
Face of milk chocolate
Speckled in espresso
Caretaker
Mary Poppins’ carpetbag of solutions
She of intuition owl-like
From wisdom found in agony
Juggler of pain and purpose
balancing act of hope
She, whose life be not spared pain’s wintry fingers
Mother, fatherless
Father, ripped away by substance
Mother, of mother who serves as mother and father
Woman who took life’s tests
And passed with flying colors
Magician
Able to harness the sticky sweet dreamsicle moments
She DID have
And use those to fashion my life
Into one of happiness
Woman of the renaissance
Lady of the brush
Who can paint between worlds
Commanding canvas to buckle at the flick of her wrist
While painting primary dreams
To suck the sorrow
From my nightmares
Mother possessing the Midas touch
Not alone in fingertips, but in arms, in lap, in lips
Whose hugs are those of pillow softness
Whose lap served as portal to comfort
And escape from any trouble in my youth
Who can heal a scrape with one kiss
Once a girl of trouble, Now a woman of joy
Woman whose laughter
Will rumble any room
And spread smiles onto lips
Once certain they could only muster frowns
Princess
Who found a prince enduring equal suffering
And managed to join with him
And create a palace
Of salvation
For their two children
Everyone wants to be proud of their mother
But mine is the crown on my head
She’s been kicked down
Time after time
But she fights her way up
The dust clinging to her clothes
Falls away with every step into the starlight
Does not such a woman deserve an ode
