Happy Mothers Day to women everywhere who have had to work as a prostitute to feed their children. My heart breaks for you; for the terrible choices you had to make, the shame and the scorn. You are in my heart and prayers.
If you look at her with disgust
Once more
Or scorn her footprint on this earth,
As any less sacred than your own
I will stand between you and her
Like a mother bear and her cub
And I will fight you with my eyes
Until you are forced to look down
And let her pass.
And on her dead child’s grave,
I will defend a mother’s right to
Feed her children however she can
Until those with power and privilege
Help her up off her back with
The God given dignity, which is
Her and her children’s birthright
While you are still sleeping,
She works the fields with
The machete of her husband;
Dead now, these six months,
From cholera spread by those
who squat where they please in
another persons garden.
Do not say her name.
It rolls off your tongue,
With the sour smell of bitter rum
That is not dignified by
Your perfect, private school French.
Do not raise your hand
to silence me
or disregard my words as crazy.
Her song is her weapon
and I hear it deep
within the streams
gathering force from the
mountains.
But do not be mistaken by
The sweet melody
of the morning bird or
the song she sings as she
starts the fire and carries water.
It is a song of unity,
Written by all the women
Of the world who sold
themselves for a piece of
Bread to feed a starving child.
Mothers,
who in my life time or
another will rise up and be free.
Look at her now
and let her pass,
For she and her children
Are the only future we ever had.
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