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A Bird’s Eye View of Poetry in Motion

This is real. I’m living it. I wished this particular wish when I was a little girl. Now it’s actually happening. I did this exact thing about 20-plus years ago when I was living with mama at home taking care of her during her last days. I asked Father God to let mama die in my arms when the time came. Had I known how traumatic her final moments were going to be, I never would have mentioned it. I can still remember that evening she left with Jesus from the memories in my head.

Mama had introduced me to poetry when I was just a baby. I fell in love with words, stories, their sounds, the whole nine yards. Mama was creative and could tackle anything she set her mind on. My daddy adored her. We all did.

I see her in me all the time. She was her own self made free spirit. She marched to the beat of a different drummer. She never gave up.

She made mistakes. But I thought she was perfect. Then again, she WAS my MOTHER.

I should have listened to her, taken her advice, but like I said, I was so much like her. So I followed my own path. I marched to my own drummer. I am my mother.

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