There was a certain method to his beauty
Standing there like a masterpiece
Waiting for a sexy artist like me
To brush him with a colorful, unique flavor
And finish him off with just the right stroke.
There was a certain science to his fineness,
Posing like an experiment that
Needed just the right imagination
To be a cure for his magician’s touch
A Madame cure-all like me.
There was a certain rhythm to his strength
African drumming for a classical conductor me-style
With fingers that slide along his . . . keyboard
Lips wrapped around the trumpet piece
Seeking the right pitch
Like he’s a well-played note.
There was a certain poetry to his intelligence,
Free versing for a creative, cute piece
To write him like the sweetest little stanza
And enter him as smoothly
As words on the tongue
Edited and ready for publication
By a sophisticated writer like me
Him molding to my sista-chic,
Scientific, musical, artistical ways
Shaping him till he was
My mother deserves an epic poem.
A story of heroes and dragons
And a quest to save a people.
A story of Greek mythology,
Of Roman gods, of Egyptian
Civilization before the Western world
Rode in to rob and destroy.
My mother deserves an Odyssey
About her Herculean effort to
Educate thousands of children.
But a tale in which bards speak of
Her all too human failings.
Her stubbornness, her inability
To acknowledge her mistakes
Coupled with her need to help
The disadvantaged find a wealth
Of advantages, to bring positive
To the lives of children trapped
In the makings of a poverty-stricken life.
For her desire to educate, to nurture,
To give, to lift up, to love
other women's children;
My mother deserves a heroic
Piece of literature.
Not because she was some imperfect
god or a perfect human.
Not because she is to be remembered
In fantastical ways,
But because she gave all she could
To live the life of a dream
A life that spoke of godliness
In the midst of humanity
A life of legend captured
In an inadequate but
Beautifully inspired piece of
Cause my mother deserves
An epic poem.