Baby, you’re moma was once wild 

I’ve followed the arc of my mother’s trajectory
Ever since I can remember her telling the stories
Of her motherless childhood in 1960s Detroit
Baby of the family, always wanted a family of her own
Graduated high school, met my father at her first job
Married, moved out to the suburbs, had me.

I loved her stories, craved them as a child
Requested them like songs,
Mommy tell the one …
& now my own asks me who she is
By asking where I’ve been, and with whom
Beautiful & chilling as a toy piano
Her child voice asks without asking,
Who are you? Where have you been?

Writing Again

I want to come back to you
No one will have to know
The secret between us
Is a child playing solo
A child playing alone with the elements of her solitude
Thank you silence, you are the music
Smeared here in my own way
Of course someone may find you
But not today!
I’ve missed you
I want to embrace you
Hold your unshaven cheeks in my palms
Deliver my mouth to your mysteries
See the strangeness of what’s underneath
Kiss you, o my playtime
I’ve been grown up for too long
But the tides and the moon and the seasons
Spin me back to your cycles of song
Songs I sing all by myself
Songs for the ones who are alone
Alone and lonely and longing
For the comfort that comes
In the making
Of The freedom
Of The soothing
Of reuniting with this thing I’ve done for so long