My Mother

My mother has kissed death
One time too many
But that’s a story for another day

My mother has shed tears
Without shedding any
But that’s a story for another day

Her crimson sclera mirrors mine
All her flaws and insecurities
She shared with I, her first seed

but I’d rather talk about:

When she laughs

How it sounds

Her childlike tantrums

Her embrace

Her grin

When she holds her laugh

When she tells me to turn on her ‘telly’

‘Change the channel to Cartoon Network or African Magic’

When she says ‘I love you, my son’

How she loves my father

How she adores him

How she prays the same prayer

How she downs a bottle of coke

How she greets my dog almost expecting an answer

How seeing her happy means everything to me


Even when my knees crackle, and my goatee flirts with the ground,

In her motherly eyes,

I’ll never grow up

And when we are miles apart, her love for me nourishes

Like our placenta did

I see myself in her more than I do in anyone else; every last drop of her beauty, heart, virtue and imperfections. I see my mother and more when I look at me.

I’d like to describe how the cliché ‘words are not enough’ applies to my mother but words are not enough.

♠ Tomi. O


22 thoughts on “My Mother

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