(This has no form, really. I just typed it out the other day for no reason. So...yeah.)
I remember a time very long ago.
When she'd lean over my bed,
Touch my cheek gently, and kiss it.
With all the grace and beauty of my mother,
On cold winter nights in the middle
Of an angry city, I was at peace,
If only for a moment in the night.
I remember cookies that she'd bake,
Little pictures into her mind,
"This one is the baker, and this one,
He's the butcher, my dear, you see?"
With all the good smells from the ktichen,
And now you walk in and smell the
Molten hate upon her berath.
I remember when she loved me...
Without strangling me.
"You're all I have anymore, Andy...
He's really left us for good now."
With all the boundaries of a nine-year-old,
And now I know why I was
Always the one in the wrong.
I remember the day she died.
Still alive and yet not near me.
"Andy, do this and that and this,
Respect, Andy, respect, respect, respect,"
But I was not a black woman singing
And I did not want anymore to do
With drunken records playing and
Being alone forever and ever.
I remember being alone.
Alone, so tired of just being me,
Never going anywhere.
Twenty years can't change anything.
You can tell me whatever you like.
But my mother used to kiss me on
The forehead and tuck me in at night,
And tell me bedtime stories,
And hold me when I was scared.
Well, who needs all of that attention.
I don't get scared anymore...
And don't you forget it.
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