Little lives, born so small
No cares, no fear at all
Mothers’ worry while father’s pace
Knowing the world can be a heartless place
Little hands, little fingers, little toes
Always feel the love that shows
Show them love with no regret
These little lives need a safety net
Love them always, forever is how long
Let them love you, let them be strong

My momma hates fruit
She always said
She’d never take a bite
She’d rather be dead

But since she had medicine
A serotonin pill,
She said she likes the berries
That she always had and will

my mother hates me
my father blames me for my mothers hatred. please

they think they can hide it but I am no longer twelve years old
wondering why
my mother doesn't look up at me when I talk to her
no, I'm no longer twelve years old
wondering why
i am yelled at a double or triple or quadruple rate
of my older sister
I'm no longer a naive twelve year old
thinking my parents kept the poems i wrote for them

when i couldn't find them? you ask
well of course the wind picked them up gently like a mother
to her child (exceptions, of course)
and carried them to a better home
someone will love my art
if not you, there are desperados yearning
for a poem that is love in the purest form

i no longer have the pure love of a twelve year old
i see cracks on the wall that is my mother and father
some are my fault
they don't see mine, i filled them in with plaster
they are almost all from my parents
don't get me wrong, everything is emotional
my parents don't hurt my physical self
they think of themselves too positively for that

i am no longer a twelve year old grateful that my situation wasn't worse
if i am honest, at a young age i believed myself to
be in the greatest home in the world
a place of pure love and compassion
a family that cares more than God
i am still grateful but,
the eyes of sixteen don't see it the same way

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
In the darkest gloom,
A mother's love is a spark,
It illuminates and blooms,
It  gives us a dash of hope,
and guides like a loom,
It wraps around tenderly,
a gift given straight from the womb.

A little girl sits at the kitchen table,
Silently coloring while watching cable.
She asks, “Why does Daddy yell at you?”
Her mother says, “it’s just something he likes to do.”
She asks, “Did your Daddy yell at you?”
Her mother says, “Yes he did that too.”
She asks, “Will my future husband yell at me?”
Her mother says, “No, that should never be.”
Her mother hugs her tight and whispers,
“Well go far, far away, where theres only happiness,
And no more angry voices can ever reach us.”

In a few months, I would become a mother
myself. Drove to her home, eager to spend
the day with my own mother. Tried to ignore
the deepening crevices in her face, arthritic

knuckles that still pounded dough to make
dumplings for others. Late afternoon, we perched
upon her kitchen stools, sipped chrysanthemum tea.
Her voice was quiet as she recalled leaving her dear mother

decades ago, toddler on hip, for a new life overseas. An unspoken goodbye that shimmered like silk between them. Sorrow distorted her face, the words strangled in her throat: Lao Lao, your grandma, had shuffled from room to room, stunned into silence, the roar of this impending

distance already drowning out my pleas for her to somehow understand. I was leaving her, perhaps forever. Her fingers had trembled as she gifted me a parcel containing two homemade qipao dresses and three tiny outfits for you –
a toddler who would grow up without ever knowing her grandma.

I watched my mom as she sat in her kitchen, shoulders slumped.
I could see how this loss broke something in her.  Still, I made
no move to embrace her. Apathy bloomed in my folded arms
and shifty eyes, a feeble attempt to shield myself

from her palpable pain. Didn’t realize that I would be steeped in it
a mere few months later. Didn’t quite know then how to measure the distance between these wounded souls spinning out, unsure
of which direction was ‘home’ and unable to turn back.

In this tale of three mothers, I now see the steadfast thread
of Your handiwork stitching together burdened hearts
spanning seas, lands, the spaces between. It was Your grace
that carried us — and only with You, did we each learn surrender.