Mother tried her very best
to tote my bones with care
and sustain me with
bread and good intentions,
It was all that she could afford.
She worried with each passing minute
that my muscles were wasting away
that my heart was not beating at its fullest strength
that, like the others, I would not stay
On nights when Papa lay in a 'cross town ditch
entertained by moonshine dreams
Mother lay in the still on her cold, dirt bed
Anticipating life signs from me
'cause she could not bear to bury four;
leave us alone and in care of the dirt
While she was expected to un-remember us
Pretend that heartache did not hurt
She could not bear to pick one more name
for a child she could never call
a child she could never brag of or scold
No, she couldn't bear that at all
So, she promised herself that it would be just three
And that '4' would be her lucky number
This time she would hear the hearty cry
of a new life not yet taken under
This time she would use those pretty dresses
Dainty ruffles or twill short pants
She could unwrap those blankets from that dusty trunk
Knit booties for tiny feet and hands
This time she could look into her little one's eyes
And see life dance in pools of brown
And taste the sweet kiss from cherubic lips
brush the curls from soft black down
It was Spring when I, like the gardenias and lilies,
bloomed and came to life
I'd traveled through a space where three others had been
And came out on the other side
And though it most impossible to remember
I recall Mother's face vividly
and the look in her eyes as she gazed into mine
Displayed thanks that she'd only buried three
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem