They need someone to change their world
From one woman,
and her deteriorating inner world.
The mother who never really was.
There was a night,
Always on Saturdays
That I could find a mother
hidden behind the defensive,
On Saturday she would make
her homemade stir-fry,
With peas from her garden.
And, if it burned,
She wouldn’t explode,
She would laugh,
It’s just cajun now,
Voice raspy from years of smoking,
We would sit on the back porch,
Listening to radio, hoping to hear her beloved DJ, Shark,
She draws in chalk on the wood,
“I miss Shark!”
And cries out playful to the heavens.
until dusk brings mosquitoes.
And deep into the next morning,
She shared her passion,
We painted in oils,
And anything was a masterpiece.
As brief as those moments were,
I share them.
I hope that those memories
Buoy the girls,
Above the darkness of the present.