I want to be the one in the kitchen.
stirring memories in my soup pot.
the one known for feeding your body and your mind,
Grits for healing.
Mama whoodo?
No! Mama you do!
Mama you can do it baby!
Mama Thats my girl!
Tears and tantrums hugged away hide in between each wrinkle on my hand
Every boogeyman, ex boyfriend, and catcaller beat on their ass by my evil eye.
The supreme. ..
No! The Grandmama to those babies always in my arms or close to my hips
And when the time comes...
even in death every lesson or event just a whispered memory away.
Supper different every day, but never how I hug you.
I am the Mama
About the Creator
Marilyn Mortician
We go about our lives pleasing others ignoring the words that desperately want to escape. I am a wildflower of the universe, a mother, and often described by the adjective odd. the previous influence and infect all parts of my writing.
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The Devil's Triangle
The sails ruffled in the breeze as we cruised along. The Sea Breeze was a mid-size catamaran that sailed out of Royal Naval Dockyard in Bermuda. We had booked this trip weeks in advance and were now looking at our Captain, Spike and two boat hands. Paddy and Wilson seemed like nice guys, joking around with the passengers and telling us some stories about Bermuda that only locals would know. Their island accents sounded almost British but they were pleasant to listen to.
By Barbara Gode Wiles2 days ago in Fiction
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