As She Lived

I didn’t know Jesus when I had my mother with me. I failed so often in my expression of love. But, her prayers availed much. I’m saved today, and I will see her again.

Dear Lord, thank you for showing me that my mother’s greatest battle was not against material lack or social injustice. The real war was spiritual. She was salt and light in the midst of a darkness that must have cried, “You’re all alone on the battlefield.” Nevertheless, I now understand that eternal life and liberty were hers, even as she lived.

As She Lived
My mother has known the ebb and flow
Of pain and disappointment
Her burden weighed by a legacy of toil and struggle 
When loving too often brought little reward 

And being loved must have gone unnoticed:
I hid my smile and withheld my embrace 
Clueless of their worth and power 
And so afraid to acknowledge my own need

Mommy was beautiful, despite the scar 
She carried since childhood 
A mule had kicked her, and the town veterinarian who 
Doctored colored folks back then was not too particular

In our domestic jungle of Stars and Stripes 
The natural head, lost and dethroned –
She, left to do it alone, stood before me 
In robes that did not fit and 
I believed that she (not the robes) was the wrong size

So young and spoiled by social exposure 
I failed to acknowledge her efforts:
The sewing machine bought “on time” and overpriced 
Clothes from A&S ‘cause Mays was no longer good enough –
Yes, she gave and loved even more

After my orientation at Fashion High
We stood on the corner of West 23rd Street
She peered into the coffee shop window 
Afraid to go in because no one in there looked like us

A man in Orthodox clothing overheard 
And said we had the right to eat there
We turned and took the subway home in silence: 
The year was 1967

Some may say that looking back is a waste: 
The cry for equality is surely on the rise 
And with it, hope to break the pattern
She is here to see the beginning
But will these changes ease the legacy 
She’s lived for half a century?

I am the fruit of her womb that started down 
The birth canal as she scrubbed floors 
My freedom is a mixed blessing if 
She’s not alive to share it 

I love her and have loved her as she struggled
Under the robes that shaped my life
Despite her discomfort she’s worn them well 
I’m here today because she wore them

I hope it isn’t too late to let her know 
That she was not the wrong size
And one day, see her stand before me 
Happy and righteously adorned!

““Honor your father and your mother, so that you may live long in the land the LORD your God is giving you.” ~Exodus 20:12

My Thoughts
I grew up in Brooklyn during the 1960s. Having a mother who was born and raised in the Jim Crow South, my childhood was affected by things in her past. As she struggled to provide for us, I often failed to appreciate her—or the God she trusted in. But in my 21st year, my eyes were opened enough to ‘see’ the treasure that she was. This poem was my Mother’s Day card to her.

For further study: Consider these related Scriptures
Proverbs 1:8 /Proverbs 6:20
Proverbs 31:26-27/ Proverbs 31:30-31 / John 7:24
Matthew 16:26
Psalm 37
Jude 24-25