Poems

Mother is the boss

finally, after nine months,

she brings you into this world.

your existence depends on her love and caring.

she feeds you, changes you, bathes you.

holds and comforts you—and if you are one of the lucky ones—

she tells you you are precious, and she loves you.

through your griping,

through your teething,

through your diarrhea,

mother is the boss.

she decides what you will wear,

what you will eat,

when you will sleep,

who you will play with,

the school you will attend,

the church,

the doctor—

everything about your life.

and who you might become,

she decided.

mother is the boss.

when you are tired, she lifts you up,

no matter how tired she is.

if you are hungry and there is only a little,

she makes sure you get it.

when you are upset,

she wipes your tears

and kisses you so it feels better,

because mother is the boss.

whether she is alone,

or has a husband or a partner,

she tells you what to do,

puts the salt on your food,

picks out your clothes—until

you say “no more,” and your

personality begins to surface.

she lets you sleep in her bed

even when your feet are in her face

or you lie on her.

she makes your breakfast,

takes you to school,

shows you how to tie your laces,

ride your bike,

how to bake a cake—

because mother is the boss.

but sometimes, when life gets the better of her,

when she is frustrated,

she might snap and shout,

“shut up, I don’t want to hear anymore!”

and when she withdraws to take care of herself,

you question her love,

you feel abandoned—

because mother is the boss.

she is also the cleaner,

the teacher,

the washer woman,

and the spiritual guide.

preparing you to lead

preparing you for what she thinks

the world will need tomorrow,

guiding you to be something

other than who she is—

the she she didn’t have a chance to be,

but she wanted to be your mother

she love being your mother

cause mother is the boss

– Opal Palmer Adisa

# # #

My mother is a beautiful soul

My mother is such a beautiful soul,

Her words of wisdom are like silver and gold.

Her love for me is a beautiful rose,

That refuses to fade even now that I'm old.

She prays for her children morning , noon and night,

And gives of herself even when things aren't "bright."

I'm glad that God chose her to be my dear mother,

For she loves unconditionally,

As we've been taught to love each other.

When were young, she gave us to God,

I'm so glad she did this for it's with Him that we've trod.

Over the highways and byways of life,

Until we learned to trust Him with our very lives.

We love you dear mom and are glad you're still here,

A ninety-one-year-old treasure that we'll always hold dear.

– Kadecia Wilson