What am I to do when Mama comes home

Asleep inside a cold, blood red coffin

Her eyes shut yet I see they want to roam

Blackened by force from inhuman someone

A tight hug at sundown at the airport

I could still feel each hot, soft cheek

She left to seek greener life from discord,

Bellicose mate, barely living and oblique

A stark, wooden crate sat alone waiting

Wanting to be weaned from lonely suckle

A light inside shone, reverberating

Her sweet, calm voice trailing since the cradle

What good would money do just to bury

A box of bones hewn from the maker’s hand

Why blame the fates for telling their story

A life waved short by a desert man’s wand

As the third flower borne with frayed petals

The sun and moon does not shine on this patch

Rain and bees grant little to no victuals

Yet we stuck together, never detached

Mama, your coffin glowed like a ruby

Rays of the hot sun touched it with sinew

Oozing fire as we lay you to glory

Aloha, Goodbye, sweet angel, adieu

From the Book, Tabo . . . Unfiltered

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