Monthly Archives: August 2012

Dear Mama (Draft)

Dear Mama,

I’m sorry I’ve been so selfish
Like the CIA hunting terrorists on a government watch list
Since birth I’ve been looking out for number One
I’ve taken people’s kindness like credit cards
Funding my false sense of security
But this house of cards of a heart
is on the verge of collapse
I am a needleless compass
Searching the stars for some sense of direction
Can you forgive me mama?
Can you forget that I made your illness
more about my needs than your own?
That I had the audacity to ask you to meet
the latest lady in my life
The same day you found out yours was nearing it’s end
That I asked you to dress yourself in hospitality
At a time when most would prefer to
crawl under the covers and hide
I don’t know how I could have been so thoughtless

Dear Mama,

I’m sorry for being such a coward
I should have been there in the hospital
But seeing you there
Would have been like seeing Superman without his cape
And I couldn’t handle any more letdowns
I should have demanded answers from the white-coats
But I was dizzy at sea
And I’ve never been much for open water
I’m sorry I lacked the legs to stand up for you
I’m sorry I ran from my emotions
Like I’ve been running from accountability
I’m sorry I wasn’t stronger

Dear Mama,

I’m sorry I was so careless
I meant to call you that night to thank you
for the thoughtful  gift you gave me
Knowing gratitude was the wind on which
you let your spirit sail
But I tend to forget anything
The doesn’t start with “I”
And end in “me”
And it haunts me to think a simple phone call
May have prevented
A premature ending
I don’t consider myself a holy man
But I pray for second chances
So I hope my scribe
Is legible in heaven
I’m sorry there wasn’t more of you in me

Dear Mama,

You wrote me a letter from beyond the grave
Saying “Sorry for being such a wounded bird”
But wounded birds can’t fly
And I’ve seen you fly mama
Carried my inspiration on wings
Beyond the bars of social stigma
There wasn’t anything I couldn’t be
But all I chose to be was absent
And although you never met your granddaughter
You have my word
I’ll be a better father
Than I ever was a son
This isn’t a poem
It’s a eulogy
For the second I turn this page
I’m  burying the past
And planting roses on it’s tombstone
Like you mama
I will be born again