One Poem
Penda Smith
My Mother in a Fit of Rage
You think you grown, now?
You just like that son of a bitch I am sure, she meant this for my father,
You love him more than me
His adultery leaves dirty dishes in the sink
forgets to take chicken out of the freezer
You are trying to kill me
she pulls her flailing arms back He lies about whose house he is going to
& whose house he is not going to
her loose skin shivering as my rattled bones,
search for a way out my body,
i cannot outgrow an extension cord
if it calls my blood to exit,
i arrive at the source of her loneliness,
in this, she tells me she loves me most, though,
i am changing too fast, i am not
yet a woman, just yesterday
she reminded me to pay my credit card bill,
& today, I fix myself to talk back
to the woman whom my flesh dissevered?
in fact, i am her first born, she would kill
three times for me, dry the nile river
with her crackling hands, if it meant i thirst,
slash the throat of any beast with her razored nails,
if it consumed me, come up short with rent
to get me braces, when the mean middle school
girls called me snagga tooth.