Most, times, MaMa

(for George Floyd, and Black folk who never made it home)

When ya hangry need to eat
instead emotions, dribble at speak
dry then cry eyes in heaps
sittin’ fronta Mama

Graduate, glide ‘cross the stage descend to hug’s hooray
quick grab is the caress 
towards her, such gentleness
‘i made it MaMa’

Naughty or sweet Hood 
Tearin’ it up – shakin’ it good  
Nerd – Boogie Black or
IwishYouwould
We Stay misunderstood 
– at the close or the start it’s always the Lord 
Most times…Mama

When Artsy idea gets funds 
you yo’ own boss, thanks homie for coffee run 
bogged, frustrated ideas won’t come… 
”be patient, dear one”, tends to  
sigh ‘n say “oh alright Mama’

Tripped into love of my life 
dew of morning, feels ignite
‘this is why they are my Light’
you sing to Mama

And when the world slipping away and there’s nothing left to say 
darkness coming in and the light begins to dim
Couple folks upon your back 
pocket hand – knee on neck – my breath, my breath my breath   
…he mustered up the air to say 
Mama

The air to say…

Naughty or sweet Hood 
Tearin’ it up – shakin’’ it good 
We Stay misunderstood 
At the close its the Lord 
or a groan …too often a whisper …a calling out 
Calling out… MaMa, MaMa