A Mother’s Song
if I were a singer of songs
I’d lift my voice mountain high in
praise of mothers
women who give body and soul
for family
scrub other people’s floors and
launch their children’s dreams on
swollen knees and bruised knuckles
while wading in puddles of splintered suds
mothers who would take the weight of Atlas’ world
If he failed to hold it steady giving solid footing
to her children
I’d sing lessons learned on mama’s knee
teaching me about “going on” at times
when I felt there was no place to go
and when I needed inspiration I’d think about
little Miguel’s mother who pitched batting practice
after work, giving her son prayers and faith
to go along with his bat and glove
so he wouldn’t strike out
when his dreams threw curves
I’d take the rhythms of mama’s pots and pans
add a melody line and recall how she made
a symphony of leftovers that fed hope
to young dreamers
like Debra’s mother who
sharpened pencils on the
cutting edge of her teeth ‘cause
her daughter wanted to be a writer –
who always found time to make model airplanes
with her son Kashif whose
dreams were about flight
and at times when his dreams seemed
out of reach
she’d pull the heavens down
to tuck him in at night
if I were a singer of songs
I’d sing mother love equations
giving 364 days a year
receiving one in return and
calling it even
if I were a singer of songs
I’d clap my hands
stomp my feet
lift my voice mountain high and pull
a praise song for mothers
from the depths of my soul.
–Layding Lumumba Kaliba
Reprinted from the book in the absence of god, an auto-poemography by Layding Lumumba Kaliba
