lily

when i was seven my mama asked me if i wanted to "fly" , she always wore long skirts like she stepped out of some mythical land with a joint in hand she held it up to my small red lips. "Breathe in" she told me. I started hacking like a fifty year old chain smoker. she laughed and i smiled because i loved to see her laugh, even if it was maniacial it was rare, between the johns and the welfare and the drugs and the long nights she spent slamming her fingers on that typewriter, poems came to her like vomit rising in your mouth and sometimes she'd spew her words all over the walls. she held my hand and we twirled around and i felt the marijuana come on slowly, I was flying.
and there were other memories sometimes she would leave for days and i'd study the walls , her words, trying to find a hidden message, the secret to her heart that none of her men could find, then maybe she'd be at home with me instead of running around with them.
And then there was the mental institutions. i still remember the blood on the bathtub. when she went to the mental institution i let her blood sit there for days as if that was all that was left of her, as if maybe this time i'd never see her again. My grandma came to take care of me and made me read the bible daily. "wheres mama?" i'd ask her. "She'll be back, The demons got her right now ," fuck. i visited her in the mental instituion and sat on her lap, she had bandages on her wrists. "Mama are the demons gonna let you go soon?" i asked her as she kissed my hands and wrote little poems on my wrists. "I hope so" she whispered back in my ear.
later on i didn't see much of my mama, with the foster homes, group homes, and then the independant living programs and then the road but anyways mothers day makes me nostalgic for her sometimes and if she was here i'd hug her and make the demons die....and even though living with my mama was rough sometimes i'm glad it was her cunt i came out of.
happy mothers day.
Love, Lily