how many generations can
lay with you in your bed?

Matriarch Mama,
honorific due you,
title earned, not learned,
and now a teaching PhDs  of
Matriachal Science

let us have tea,
a tea party in you garden,
and the granddaughters
dressed in their church finest,
running noisy but that's ok,
mass is over, and the party
is now a backyard affair

me, a recorder,
standing in the corner,
invisible observing,
leaning on that old banyan tree,
smile playing on
my eyes,
counting
cousins daughters sisters,
and best of the best,
grand babies wilding in their Sunday finery,
even seeing
invisible fathers standing beside me,
but espy only one

Matriarch Mama,
sallying forth,
gunslinger of poetry,
nobody messes with Sally,
she is the brood defender,
poetess not
of the day

she is a
generational inscriber,
an author of a
gene pool of life's best,
her existence,
from heaven, sent a manna,
to feed-across-time
just one family,
an ordinary,
if such there was,

**Matriarch Mama

The photograph frames a proud father,
Holding a dark haired, wide eyed boy of two,
A handsome, smiling child, appearing                    
Normal and happy.
Back in the still good old days.

The little boy in the photo never grew up,                  
Stayed locked up in a grown man’s body.
A Misshapen, painful body racked with
Years of recurring illnesses and frequent
Urgent trips to the Hospital.
The doctors said he would not live into his teens.

The little man within never complained,
His attentive loving family never gave up.
It was love and hope that sustained them.
The Child/Man suffered a hard fought, 40 year life.
And yet he endured. While all that time being
Imprisoned in his diminished child’s mind and his
Tortured adult man’s twisted ever failing body.
Causing some to say; “How much suffering is enough?”

On his last day on Earth, in his limited fashion,
He enjoyed the sunshine,
Smiled a little and even spoke a few rare words,
To his Care Givers.  
Perhaps he was actually celebrating,
It is reported that he even laughed a little.

No doubt painfully exhausted from being
Imprisoned within himself.
Recently back from yet another difficult Hospitalization.
Last night, deep in his own heaven of peaceful slumber
His soul took wings.

At last that little boy that was there, but not there,
Trapped within himself for a life time,
Is finely released and free to soar.

Fly on Child of God, soar now, fly free Little Big Man!