Dear Mother by Abigail George | Poems Rethabile Likes
Dear Mother
by Abigail George
(For Wesonge Shariif)
Dear Mother,
You are memory and you are Mary
You are Jesuit Priest on the moon
When you were a daughter, before you married, met your Boaz
You were Ruth
You have the wisdom of Oprah Winfrey
In the words of Maya Angelou,
You are a phenomenal woman
You are a talk show host
Yes, you are my tea, you are universe
You are my skein
Yes, you are my spool of thread
In my hands you are a photograph album
You are a diary
You are May Sarton's and my journal of emptiness
You are Diane Arbus
You face is a flower
Your face is a poem
You are Everest
You are my ball of wool,
You are my tapestry needle
Yes, you are my universe
You are the sea in me
You are the sea of my childhood
You are the Pacific
You are my nuclear current and wave
No, scholar of trivia are you
You are mother
You are Grizzly bear
You are a continent
You are coastal city
You are Africa
My East and my West
You are the sands of time in an hourglass
You are my universe
Your pain is my pain
It is like looking into a mirror
Seeing your reflection staring back at me
like the sun
like the sun
like worship and peace of mind
like praise
like praise
You are Malcolm X
You are Frantz Fanon
You are Albert Camus' long-suffering wife
You are the wife of an intellectual
You are not an imposter
You lack the syndrome
You are an educationalist
You are a university
You are a temple
You are a saint
Yes, you are saint
You are a prayer
Psalms line the circumference of the vessel of your body
You are a pure volcano lover
You are sweet
You are sour
You are magic
You are empire
You are the island of Manhattan
I remember when you wore
high heeled shoes like Carrie Bradshaw from Sex in the City
and hot pink lipstick
that tasted like cream
You are pollen
You are my sunshine
You are the moonlight
You are the solar system
You are memory and you are Mary
You are Jesuit Priest on the moon
When you were a daughter, before you married, met your Boaz
You were Ruth
You have the wisdom of Oprah Winfrey
In the words of Maya Angelou,
You are a phenomenal woman
You are a talk show host
Yes, you are my tea, you are universe
You are my skein
Yes, you are my spool of thread
In my hands you are a photograph album
You are a diary
You are May Sarton's and my journal of emptiness
You are Diane Arbus
You face is a flower
Your face is a poem
You are Everest
You are my ball of wool,
You are my tapestry needle
Yes, you are my universe
You are the sea in me
You are the sea of my childhood
You are the Pacific
You are my nuclear current and wave
No, scholar of trivia are you
You are mother
You are Grizzly bear
You are a continent
You are coastal city
You are Africa
My East and my West
You are the sands of time in an hourglass
You are my universe
Your pain is my pain
It is like looking into a mirror
Seeing your reflection staring back at me
like the sun
like the sun
like worship and peace of mind
like praise
like praise
You are Malcolm X
You are Frantz Fanon
You are Albert Camus' long-suffering wife
You are the wife of an intellectual
You are not an imposter
You lack the syndrome
You are an educationalist
You are a university
You are a temple
You are a saint
Yes, you are saint
You are a prayer
Psalms line the circumference of the vessel of your body
You are a pure volcano lover
You are sweet
You are sour
You are magic
You are empire
You are the island of Manhattan
I remember when you wore
high heeled shoes like Carrie Bradshaw from Sex in the City
and hot pink lipstick
that tasted like cream
You are pollen
You are my sunshine
You are the moonlight
You are the solar system
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