l i f e b l a z i n g . c o m

Melodrama is an unfit MaMa.
You can’t raise strong babies with that.
Whether your babies be
from sperm and egg,
or paint or words or comedy;

babies — like dreams — need love,
and caresses — energy that blesses
their growth.

Not ho-hum, po-dank, can’t-make-it-to-the-bank
blues.

The sky got Blue covered.
So don’t make your babies smothered
with your heavy gravy
that can’t nobody see through;
let alone breathe through.

Lighten the atmosphere
by inviting angels near.

They come through your singing
and your sacrificial bringing
of gifts like Gratitude and Joy.

Find it.  Make it.
Then watch it multiply…

in the breath of your baby
in the breath of your dreams
in the breath of your mouth
that pours forth streams

of water,
or mud.

It’s all your choosing;
your losing, or gaining.
But the fruit of your lips
is surely remaining
for your baby to see.
To eat.
To repeat.

All that she learned from you, Dear MaMa.

Copyright © Erika Harris