Baby, you’re moma was wild 

I follow the arc of my mother’s trajectory
I 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 love 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?

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