I Call You Mama T.L.C.

(you are love)

“A mother’s love is
The next best thing to knowing
I’m a child of God.”

You passed on a Thursday
At exactly 10:40 A.M., but
Felt like Easter Sunday
(Maybe because I’d been there most of the night before, waiting for you to rise up one last time)
Sun gleaming
Finally peeking
Through the opaque pane
Of your pain.
& I can hear you say,
“Do what you love
…be who you are, but
make certain that’s
who you wish to be…
That’s your legacy.”

Seemed like a month of Sundays
Since you felt good, & even
In the face of pain, you
Never gave up the ghost
In your art of rapport
Never meeting a stranger
Embracing everybody
As though they were

You never lost faith
In spite of your losing
Fight. you remained
On the ball, made the call
To stop it all
Except for oxygen, because
You’d seen the scrawled
Writing on the wall:
“God is love…& the light.”
& you were ready to abide.

So much more than a mother
I call you Mama T.L.C.
‘Cause that’s who you are
To me. & happiness
Is your aura
For a lifetime of love
That has been sown
In fertile soil
Of forever & in the hearts
Of those who hold you dear
…& I can still hear
You say, like everyday–
“This too shall pass
…Be strong, but don’t be
Afraid to cry. Don’t think
Of me as dead, for we will
Meet at the fork in the road ahead.”

Sondering Stars

(or: Writing on the Right Side of the Brain)

Courtesy of a wandering
Mind, I find myself
Circling the clock

Of the heart through echoes

Of time, looking to luck
Up on some newfound energy
To break the monotony

& escape the hell

Of being held hostage
By writer’s block. Granted,
I was preoccupied

With the necessary

Agony of watching my
Mortality teeter for
Six weeks
& four days
Like riding a seesaw.

& then, when dad called

& said, “she’s gone,” I
Wailed like a newborn
Who’d just learned to cry.

& then, after
The seesaw, I saw
People flock to the hall

Standing room only, to

Share in her life’s
Labor of love…& felt
Her call, “Michael,

I told you not to worry
‘Bout me; but, now

That you’re fluent
In the right brain, in you
Is a world of words

Left to draw.”

“But Mama, I write.”

“Exactly! imagine
All of the sondering stars
Unfelt & unsown.”