A  mother tears

She was a beauty.

My mother was 5 foot 8 inches in height.

She was a  slim young lady with dreams and hope.

She didn’t listen to her parent.

She marry a man with rage and hate as his strength.

No-one would hear her cries or scream for help.

No-one would see the bruises and mental abuse given.

My step-father rarely hit her where the bruises could be seen.

He has a smile and good nature till he drank and hated everyone.

Step-father blamed the world for his screw-up life.

He told me he never had a fair chance.

His anger could not be controlled.

Wars and life left him pissed off and hateful.

I remember trying to help my mother.

I was 4 or 5 years old and try to separate and protect her.

He tossed me across the room.

She would try to fight back.

I could hear her cries as he hit her.

He was too powerful.

I was afraid even as a child he would kill her.

One evening a 23 year woman with two kids boarded

a Greyhound bus and they went to New Mexico.

She hid there doing waitress work for cash money.

We didn’t come back to Michigan for years.

Step-father marry again and abused  more woman.

I learn never to hit a woman the hard way.

Back then woman didn’t have safe houses.

Today I pray we don’t allow fear and abuse to be hidden.

Woman and children need safe houses and protection.

    Coyote

     December 

Memory of a Mother

(I was raised by my stepmother Sonja.
A beautiful and wonderful lady who died too young.)

Names given are earned.

Not easy to become.

You were a mother to many.

You try to love all of us.

Errors made in a life haunted your dreams and life.

The good deeds overcame all your mistakes.

Mother and  Mama. Sweet words spoken to a woman who loved her children.

You shall be to me.

Mama Sonja for your gift of love.

Coyote
2002