She cried tears that seemed to make the earth crack
The way her hands did after three straight days of work
And the way they stirred into a quick meal of corn tortilla’s and tomato sauce.
She moved like magic when she danced kissing man made wind with her fingertips
And her broken smile shone like a thousand suns on Apollo’s chariot
Her voice rose like ancient hymns screaming because we hadn’t finished the dishes
And we laughed at the culture of words bouncing off deaf ears.

He heart was broken like the love she possessed within it
Driving home and not wanting to pull off the rode to another day
of us and the mess that was considered her life and this paycheck was gone before it came.
Like the many men she brought home that she would pull in to make her feel complete
And the sweetness inhaled in her lungs thinking maybe this time she’d forget it all for sure and we watched the broken goddess die completely.
Everyday on dilapidated, dirt brown couch with a beer in her hand and emptiness in her mouth.

It was a bad taste of reality. Her American dream was just making ends meet and then maybe the kids would shut up for a minute and she could have a moment of peace.
She was a professional of acrobatics walking the tight rope every day until emotions fell
Like an angry God’s lighting on our little world for the secret sins we held in and she would rise like a wind to punish till we were in tears.

Then she’d hold us. Like the most endearing of arms and the safest barricade in the bloodiest war she held us like she had nothing else to hold to because I see now that really she didn’t and our love for her was what saved her from the hate to herself.
She came home everyday because there was no one else who cared. And yeah she could leave us to our father on the street but then who would she meet at the end of the road she was driving.

So she came and said ‘Our Fathers” at our feet
Threw blankets over our heads, tuck us into bed and watch us get lost in sleep
She bought presents on Christmas, and baskets on Easter and cherished the moments are not so naïve eyes shone. She loved us like a mother.
And in my heart I always thanked her for coming home.

Even when I knew she’d rather be a kid again herself and let someone else
Sing her lullabies to dream and not have to worry about if she’d have enough grocery
To last until the weekend to feed her responsibilities.

And I remember being eight years old and her broken, tired eyes but I remember the ‘I Love You’s’ I remember hugs so close, afraid and personal that I knew she needed me more than maybe I could ever need her and I wasn’t afraid to say she was my mother because she were taller than any other tree in this forest and I loved her with a heart so pure it made harlots cry on nights on streets he roamed but her and her love always were strong

You’re a rock mama and the cornerstone to this not so polished masterpiece and I know that I have places with rough edges and I’m not so confident that my kids will see me at 5”3’ and see eternity in my eyes that shine like yours with sadness and a heart that morns from our story but know that when I walk out that door that my love for you will always come home.