Mama

Crooked little smile, first all gums, then some teeth, mama he says

As two little hands each for you.

Mama! he screams, as he points to the tv, to his food, to the floor, to his reflection...

Mama when he’s hot,

Mama when he’s cold,

Mama when he’s sad,

Mama when he’s old...

Mama he cries & you turn every-time,

Every time...

even if you are not his mama.

Your womb cries when he cries, hurts when he hurts, because it worked hard to create life & the perfect alignment of his head to his toes...

Mama... he cried, & I reached for him like he was my own.

And I wanted to scream and I wanted to cry and I wanted to occupy his place,

To take his hurt, to take his hand, to tell him everything is going to be okay, mama will fix it... but I couldn’t fix it...

Mama! mine cries, & I am afraid my child might be next because he is not the imagine of non threatening.

Because he comes from a long history of Mayans, Aztecs, Native Americans, AFRO-Latinos... because the shape of his eyes are tight & the color is too dark.

Because his name sounds too ethnic for comfort.

Because I don’t want to teach him to keep his head down when someone of authority gives direction & insults & oppresses, but I am afraid if he speaks up he might end up laying on the street or in a cell...

so we talk about all peoples and respect and morals but I have to remind his little heart that not everyone is raised the same & some have hate because they can’t love themselves so they can’t love other sons & daughters & mamas & fathers...

Hate is taught, hate is taught, hate is taught!!

So when he called out for his mama we answered, we answered & we will continue to answer.

-Josseline Flores-Hernandez 06/09/20