Our Mothers

BY FABRE BROOKS

She drove, pale skin glistening

From the afternoon heat

With the murmur of radio personalities, and

Whirring of wind and

And the thrum of tires on the open road

She hummed, keeping her eyes fixated toward freedom,

I shall not, I shall not be moved.

She gathered her babies

Remnants of sleep upon their brown faces

Their tired eyes gazing out the windows

Momma, are we there yet?

Soon.

Close your eyes and go to sleep.

Soon.

So long as I remain headstrong and steadfast.

Soon.

And your lives,

Forever mine to keep,

Will stay in the realm of innocence.

So match my heart and words,

Saying with me,

I shall not be moved.

In the Illinois corn fields,

Running through the halls

Of nursing

Homes, along South Carolina beaches,

In the roaring clubs of Hilton Head,

Into the wounds of her broken body, she

Cried against calamity.

You have tried to destroy me,

And though I perish daily

I shall not be moved.

Her universe,

Summarized into a petite violated body

Showed no outward signs of damage,

Yet inside it decayed and collapsed.

Where was her voice?

All past sins rising to the surface

And self-blame clouding her reason

Incursion has bound her to his bed

Yet, she shall not be moved.

She forgets the names

Deleted fragments of her own memory,

Childhood, adolescence, college

Hidden under lock and key

Within the depths of her mind.

She said, But I am not

What has been done to me, for

I am meant to be in this world,

And I shall not, I shall not be moved.

No angel stretched protecting wings

Above the heads of her children.

She became the guardian of virtue,

A sanctuary of purity and innocence

In the chaos of their lives.

They spouted like young weeds

And she could not shield their growth

From the haunts of the past

And the growing holes in the present.

She protected them

Covered their ears, closed their eyes,

Plugged their noses.

She stood alone, seeking refuge.

She searched God’s face

Asked him why?

She cried at the foot of the altar

She cried for her past

For her daughters

For a husband unconsumed by the rock

Into the depths of hell

Into iniquity, she screamed

NO MORE

Nothing more dare deny me life

The Divine within my heart

Compels me to push forward

The fruits of the spirit light the way

She stands

At the altar

A white woman in love with a Black man

In the living room

Clutching the crack rock found under the couch

In the pews

Questioning God

In pawnshops

Recovering her household items

In line

Awaiting his release

In church, loving the Lord

And thanking Him for a new day

Scorned by the world

She sings her daughters to sleep,

Hums in constant worship:

However I am battered and scarred

Whatever my shortcomings may be,

I will lay aside my fears,

For I shall not be moved.