In tribute to my mother on Mother's Day.
Under the Snober Tree
Mama, why do you sit beneath the Snober tree,
Picking its seed with Grandma and Aunt,
While the bakkah’s steady wind,
Flows through your golden hair.
Is it because you wait for him?
Mama, what will you cook for him?
Chicken and rice topped with pine seeds.
Tomorrow will be the great feast.
All the villagers will come,
They’ll sit with him drinking hot tea.
And he’ll tell the tales of a faraway land.
Mama, is that Rosmia coming your way?
You shield your eyes from the fiery sun
Filtering its way through the snobar limbs
And she carries the basket of okra.
Like emerald gems she lays them,
Oh, how he has missed your okra stew.
Mama, why are your hands so blistered?
Yet your heart so proudful!
Is it because the flowers bloomed so well?
Or the cluster of
grapes fell so bountiful?
Like colorful soldiers standing in honor of him.
He will be so amazed.
Mama how many lonely nights,
Pulled you beneath the Snober tree
To sit and watch the stars and moons,
A racing meteorite against a pitch- black sky
It cooled your lonesome heart,
Knowing he looked at the same.
Mama are you watching the narrow road,
To see but a shadow of Father,
His shoes making imprints in the red dirt,
Over sticker burrs and rocks that grow beneath the soil
He’ll be carrying cedar chests filled with gifts.
Oh, how a day to wait for him has been a thousand.
Mama, you are gone now as is Father,
And so are the cedar chests and the sunflowers.
And the grapevines, and the roses.
The villagers say your paradise is but a haven for birds.
But they are wrong, mama,
For as I sit beneath the Snober tree,
Picking the seeds that fell beneath,
Sitting on the same soil that touched your flesh
I hear your laughter
in its rustling leaves,
I see your rosy cheeks in the filtering sun,
I feel your strength in the unwavering trunk.
And you’re there, always and forever.
Happy Mother's Day