Baby, you’re moma was wild 

I remember my mother telling 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 him, 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 who she is
By wanting to know where I’ve been, and with whom;
Beautiful & chilling as a toy piano
Her child voice repeats the chorus,
Who are you? Where have you been?


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