No one can take their mom for granted like a son or daughter. This story is about seeing my mom in unfiltered light and freedom. This liberation comes when her husband (my dad) is not around. This piece is a dart to his ego and a prayer said to my mom’s heart, urging it to love her more fiercely. Even on Father’s Day, this is an ode to my mom, and mom’s like her, who put up with patriarchal bullshit that limits the essence of who they are.
She opened up to me, an actual bloom
Not to my surprise, only as he was absent from the room
Her voice reached the hill crests and caressed valleys below
Stretching into her past self and stories I had yet to know
Summer kitchen’s glisten held her brown skin in constant light
Matching movements, our ankles together propped up at the table’s side
Rarely candid until now, her speech is often rehearsed and matches his tone
I wonder if, in her grace, she ever misses her rightful throne?
Regal and worthy, yet her body yields with an endless question mark
Regardless of her intention, she is daggered with words to the heart