Tag Archives: #mothers

best of both worlds

My mother taught me how to make a living.
My father showed me how to create a life to live.
She was deemed responsible.
He was deemed selfish.
… I want to be selfishly responsible from here on out.

nothing to manage

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Saturday afternoon truth
told by thick brown hands,
stories of survival and struggle until both
sound like all the names of the black mamas in the neighborhood

Hymns and laughter
imparted in between sections of greased scalps
that smell like coconut or yesterday’s frying oil

Here, little girls get to disappear
feel their mother’s heart beat
as her fingertips massage away her little girl worries
of
not turning the jump rope fast enough
getting picked last during recess for dodge ball

on the floor between her mother’s legs
the little girl’s father appears in a new light
fresh and foul
like discounted gizzards
she learns why to save
why the pulled out back seat of her grandfather’s Cadillac is a
treasure in the garage

safe Saturday rituals become
sanctified Sunday religion
and all this from sitting in between her mother’s legs
getting her hair
did.

SHE CHRONICLES: “For Mamas Who Have Considered Suicide While Loving Daughters With Open Wounds” a poem by Crystal Tennille Irby

If I could rename her, I would call her Oya.  She brought the rain/the storm/the thunder and lightening my heart needed.

I thought my womb would stretch/hips expand/body open for all my children to breath life.

I never imagined my teacher would come to me, age 11/a reflection of my brokenness/an unrelenting stare/unyielding hunger to be whole.

There was no escaping.  A time to heal had come, and so began the cycle of faith and fear.

I never imagined my daughter as a savior.  There would be nothing immaculate about her conception.  How I became a mother would be by birth.  But here she is, no marks to prove my body made room for her/to prove to my soul was given time to prepare for her. But she is here, breathing in all of my dreams as if I whispered them to her as she tossed and turned in my body.

She is a sphinx.  The fire burns but never destroys.  I have witnessed her sift through her own ashes at least three times.  For that, I do not take credit.  I am only here to remind her she has been resurrected before.

I relish in every raindrop/vigilant through every storm/faithful when the lightening strikes because I know rebirth is on the other side.  She has taught me to bury the dead/to forgive myself.  It is her grace I am most grateful for/her willingness to allow me to grow/to always allow me to hold her.  Even in the darkest hours, when our arms can’t seem to stretch around our bodies, I hold her in my heart/in my prayers.  I carry her like child in womb in my soul.

Continue reading SHE CHRONICLES: “For Mamas Who Have Considered Suicide While Loving Daughters With Open Wounds” a poem by Crystal Tennille Irby

A Mother’s Missing Song, Trayvon Martin

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The “clean your room” “do you have homework”
“bring me your dirty clothes”
are tunes mothers sing
on deaf ears of children
who dance the slow drag
every week to these commands.

But these are our moments. The mother/son
tango. The mother/daughter
watusi.
the spinning disco ball being
a flailing shoe / a raised voice bouncing against the wall
these are our moments

along with those shoes she swore
she’d never buy you / but did
the birthday cake she said you didn’t deserve / but she baked
and, you still / woke to balloons tied to your bed post. Continue reading A Mother’s Missing Song, Trayvon Martin

for daughters and mothers

For daughters who hate mothers for
not being Grandma
For mothers who hate daughters
Cause she thinks she know it all
If only they’d not played with baby dolls
maybe both wouldn’t be disappointed
with Reality.

This is for the daughters from mothers
Who are now mothers of daughters
That meet at the shore of unforgiving
whose hearts are prematurely laid to rest
Tomb stone reading.. fear

This is for mothers who hate daughters for being just like them
This is for daughters who hate mothers for not teaching them any better
For mothers with old tricks that no longer separate the sun from recycled patio air
For daughters with paper doll necks held upright with duct taped thoughts of suicide
both parked on one way streets without life’s permission to do so
…faces marked hourly with tears

This is for way too tired mothers
Who have true dreams of stress ridden daughters with sunflower crowns

This is for mothers & daughters
who stuff their wounds with spider webs
and catch men with two legs, four lives and a thousand lies

This is a prayer for time to cancel judgment from the memory bank of what was important

For daughters and mothers facing sad reflections
Digging deep regrets
At the shore of unforgiving.

nikki skies copyright 2014

Dear Colorado: Marijuana vs Motherhood?

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I had to read various websites to ensure I was reading this clearly… Colorado, for the third time, wants to pass Amendment 67 that would ban all abortions, inclusive of rape and incest victims, and when a woman’s health is in danger.  I am not sure what they didn’t understand about it not being passed the first and second time… maybe it’s all that marijuana smoking???

The government has had this fixation on controlling a woman’s body for centuries upon centuries. 
Continue reading Dear Colorado: Marijuana vs Motherhood?

future woman leader, my sister Erika

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My sister Erika loves to dance. I like that some of her hobbies are to play, dance and sing. When she grows up, she will give the world her gift of dancing. Everyone should have a sister like her because she’s fun, she doesn’t give up on anything, she’s smart and listens to what people has to say. And that’s way I love her.

Written by Kayla:
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some days i feel like water, like erika

all month I have been writing prose to acknowledge women that have directly influenced my life and perception on living as an artist. this week, I have decided to let these little women that are living in my home to write and express for one another and for women that they want to share information on.

last but not least, my eldest, the first one out the blocks. my scorpio. the fire and water supplier, Erika.

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where do I begin? my pre-teen… who would now rather be on the phone or in front of the television than bonding with her aunt. let’s see… the messy room, the junky school back pack, the fearless one… yes, let’s start with that. the fearless one.

not afraid to turn an event into the “Erika show” if she needs to! she has always been the popular one, ever since pre-kindergarten. you ask, “pre-kindergarten? she was only 4 years old?” I know! her theme song should be, “I AIN’T NEVER SCARED!” until she sees me waiting for her at the school bus stop or standing in the doorway at home. then that changes until school the next day and then it becomes her world again. and how does one maintain a healthy balance of that for a little girl? a little black girl?

she is a leader. she is the organizer. she’s cautious enough not to make the first move all the time. oh, she’ll send someone out ahead of her to test her plan! she’s strategic. she studies you. she’ll stare at me while driving. so, I study her back. I show just as much interest! where? who? why? I let her be the first to try things. the first to go to the theater with me, the first to go to the hair salon, the first to get a bedroom makeover, the first to try ballet, the first to play soccer… she’ll be my first out the gate. I have six more years to panic over that but like most parents, I wonder if I’m preserving as much of her fearlessness as possible? After all, God sent her this way.

she is the popular one at school. she is witty and going through her goofy 6th grade phase. she is an honor roll student and the one that the teacher’s say, “she could easily be an all A student if she just…” she is my fire starter who carries the water in her bag to extinguish it out when she’s done. get it? she’s feisty and “ain’t never scared”. she’s easy going with me, she understands I’m still figuring this parenting thing out but I’m in it for the long haul. with that, for me she stays true to her scorpio sign with water and flows with me.

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some days i feel like air, for kayla

all month I have been writing prose to acknowledge women that have directly influenced my life and perception on living as an artist. this week, I have decided to let these little women that are living in my home to write and express for one another and for women that they want to share information on.

next up is the middle girl, kayla. my mini me. my virgo. my cuddler.

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kayla is about patience. to love her you need it. she requires it. my sensitive, emotional little lady. she has always required attention, never the one to watch Dora the Explorer alone while you washed dishes. if you were in the kitchen, she was in the kitchen! if you were in the study room, she was in the study room! if you were in the bathroom she was waiting for you in the hallway! I usually stay up late to write and she would get up early, like most kids, so I would lock my bedroom door to get some extra sleep. this chick picked my lock one morning and got in! YES YOU HEARD ME! (haha)

I don’t recall kayla every drawing outside of the lines when she began to color. if she did color outside, it was her creating a totally different picture. she has always been meticulous. my mother hums and sings all the time and kayla has picked this up. she sings walking down the hall, in the shower, riding her bike… and she is a dancer. kayla is no doubt my artist.

she is also my follower. remember, she has never liked being by herself. God made her this way so I just have to continue to encourage her to trust her talents and what her heart is telling her. I believe she is so talented, she doubts herself just to fit in with everyone else. she is a gentle little woman, very giving and shy. not to toot my horn, but I really feel she mirrors me in a lot of ways. she is my art show award winning, talent show singing, honor roll having middle girl. not to the left, not to the right. just in between flowing to and fro, kayla.

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