So, My Mother.

Tell me that elephants walk barefoot,
and I'll believe that my grasslands are no more.

So the death of heathery hands
and leafy smiles
like unknown poetry -
so the death of my mother.

Tell me that a warrior may stand proud,
and I'll cry that the shackles have fallen.

So the freedom of barefeet
and nearly broken eyes
like loosely obfuscated mirrors -
so the liberation of my mother.

Tell me that the mangos run sweet,
and I will drink to the diving, dancing rain.

So the fall of dreams,
tears that blush on black faces
like happiness ran in water-falls -
so the health of my mother.

I am not my mother's daughter;
I am the daughter from the womb
of the somewhere that my heart calls home.
I will read your wrinkles
and tell the world your meanings
but I cannot live them
for you.