april 12|mother

Mother
(love as resistance | draft 1)



her voice quivers as more and more her throat resembles a dehydrating well
her shoulders become heavy with the weight of yet another passing generation
her legs buckle with the numbness and instability of our people’s culture
her heart flutters with overwhelming angst for when she sees us it hiccups memories of her own childhood

my mother is resilient
and although she has only a vocational education
and a vocabulary limited by her inherited social status
she loves
she loves with every ounce of knowledge that her glass ceiling will willingly allow her

growing up she bought my brother and I superficial things that blinded us from our own reality
to be poor
to be immigrant
to be different
she believes that we must take care of our selves
never worry about what others are doing she says
family is important, don’t ever forget that

individualistic ideals of capitalism take over my mother’s heart
soon leaving her without a neighbor to exchange lemons for tangerines every summer afternoon
she believes that we got here on our own
her historical amnesia forces her to forget the many that struggled before us
who translated boats and planes into opportunities for better lives
my mother’s American Dream exists in a bubble that only contains our family
the pressures of our own agency push from within
and the love generated from my displaced community’s spirit push from without

my mother’s love
hydrates her words into existence
lifts loads off of weighted backs
stands grounded in the company of distortion
my mother’s love remembers its steady beat