My mother never speaks
Of why she loves so deeply
Anything that has ever suffered,
Because she knows that saying is not knowing
When it comes to love.
And my mother's cat
is named Mitzi
She's lean and black
Used to be a stray
Until my mother took her in
And now she is a lean queen
Sitting at the window
Watching the birds
Instead of stalking them
Watching the broke leg alley dogs limp by
Instead of fearing them
And watching the seasons transform the trees
Instead of climbing them to tremble
In the rough winds
And knowing, though she cannot say
That she has paid in pain
The full price for all the love
We give her now
And she is quite certain
Of our adoration.
Daughter, Black woman,
Whose elegance and beauty
I see fleetingly
Now and then
On the elevator, in the hall,
Passing in the streets.
Making me smile,
When all the suffering is done,
And you come into your kingdom
And the throne you deserve,
How I wish that same sweetness
I am jealous!! Waller's poem and yours are slambang knock-outs. Real and sexy and down to earth. Bedrock! Love the language, love the passion, love the grittiness. H o n e s t y. B R A V O & B R A V A~~~!!!
xOx 'Pea' xOx
Mitzi....this is a wonderful raw release of the heart of being an expressionist & the flow was so perfect reading the emotions & the intimate thoughts of a very profound logic of memory...
the feelings...superb lashing!
Peace & Blessings
"But I can read" AMEN!
And Assata Shakur's formula,
(Whether white black red or yellow)
would put the cap right in the meat of the matter.
You do cut to the chase,
and through all the red tape,
and you do get to the heart of the matter
with a lot of clear vision and unique verve.
It's a no-holds-barred poetic expression. Love it!
Have always appreciated your phraseology Mitzi
and also the soul of what you do.
Standing round of ovation for this one sister...you not only tell it like it is you let us live it through your soul and your heart. The passion you put into this is evident as it is a great write worthy of publication in any magazine or newspaper in this land.
Glad to notice there are still people who can see it. Only, never enough, so it peace without justice and injustice without indignation. And if something happens people wonder how come.
I'm in the right mood for this poem and reading it brings some relief.