Don’t scatter roses, so the song goes.
I do not mean to rain on your parade
And I don't doubt your merits as a daughter or son
All I’m saying is,
If I had a mother.
Her grave has long been cold and
hard.
Life’s pitted terrain nothing but a cliché.
My victories hollow without her.
If I had a mother,
I would savour the sound of her
footsteps,
clobbering our cobra waxed floors.
Run towards her
And not scamper to my room,
to avoid her incessant stories
About the women at the marketplace
For no song trumped the rhythm of her
traipsing,
and airy, wishful gait.
If I had a mother
I would rub her weary flesh after a
blistering day at the market.
Really take the time to pop her
blisters.
Observe every crack of her
heels,
Pour soothing oil on her bruised
knuckles.
And iron the creases on her forehead,
Until what’s left is nothing but
cackles.
If I had a mother
I would swallow her insipid grits.
And gobble her dull collard greens.
Munch every crumb of her greasy buns
For every serving was a testament to
steadfast love
If I had a mother
I would gaze into her glassy eyes
Trace the contours of her jaw
Really understand the arch of her mouth.
And every smile behind her tears,
For that is the shrine in which she interred her story and mine.
If I had a mother
I would not wail so loud,
The birds would scramble from their
trees.
I would not bear testimony,
To the adulation of my kindred and
strangers alike
Instead, I would take the time.
Really take the time.
Because life, as we've learned, is all but fleeting.
