Poem #30 - The Memory of Mother

The Memory of Mother
By Lesley-Ann Brown

I don’t know
Why you
Don’t tell
Me-

From
The past
In which
I see.

The silence
Is dark
And
Haunts me,
‘Wakes me up,
no longer dream.

I don’t know
Why you
Won’t stay.

I don’t know
Why you
Won’t say.

To get the gods
That keep
You quiet,
Keep us
Locked up,
In this
Silence.

I don’t know why you won’t tell me
From ethereal space I come,
Through the ages  
Divided,
Through  time since begun.

But still again we stand in hope-

Looking for what can come to be.

Hoping that in the distant future,
We will clearly see:


But what happens to a people
Who turn
the other cheek
Who learns to love
Her enemy
Who learns to dream
asleep?

I
Who grow
Gods
From the roots
Of  
Their hair
Who fly flags
Of different colors
In the air

I
cut the cain
Drank the rum
In the rain,

wash
Their clothes
In the river
Again & again.



I don’t know why
You won’t tell me
The past.

I don’t know why the
Love did not
Last.

All I want is for you
To tell me,
Who to love
& who
is enemy.

Why won’t you tell
Me
From whence
It began,
From the wet
Wombs of
Women
Whose songs
She sang?
A moaning
And groaning
Straight from the earth
Pushing through
Darkness
Light-giving birth.

Be quiet, stay still
Please &
Do not disturb.

Were the words
That were heard.

If you do not
Tell me the
Facts of your
Past,
I cannot
Perform
This spiritual
Mass.


The space
In between
Is inviting
a wonder,
as silent as snow
as powerful
as thunder.


I don’t know
Why you
Don’t tell
Me

From
The past
In which
I see.

The silence
Is dark
And
Haunts me
Wakes me up
no longer dream.

I don’t know
Why you
Won’t stay.

I don’t know
Why you
Won’t say.

To get the gods
That keep
You quiet,
‘Keep us
Locked up
In this
Silence.


I don’t know why you
Won’t tell me


I don’t know why you won’t
Say—

the Songs to be sung,

Or the trees to be planted.

I don’t know why you won’t
Say about the Calabash,
the drums, the universe
granted.

‘That reality is invented
& about all the lives
re-presented
&
that consciousness
is connected
&
that one day
it will come to past

that what has been constructed,
Shall be de-constructed.

For such is
The Power
Of Re-Birth.

So, why don’t you
Say my story?
Why don’t you
Let us see?
Why don’t you
Say our story?

& so re-member 
us all women 
free?

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