Poetry: Bug, A Sestina for Mom

You were my first home.

That’s the truth.

Into the world I went with a push.

Our mutual first love, Grandma,

cheers to the glee of being free,

and I smile knowing y’all’s knowledge was for me.

Your only girl, yes, that’s me.

We built bonds and traditions at home

so I never had to hit the streets to feel free.

Anita Baker, Sade, and Stevie Wonder spoke our truths.

When we needed direction, one call to Grandma

and Poof! Couldn’t get any closer to the roots, push

closer to the surface, shaking off soil, push

past doubt and distraction, past bugs and critters that scare me

writing our story as told to me by Grandma.

Tied to earth like our ancestors, I think of home—

our memories, our shared truth,

Up from slavery, how blessed are we to be the generations free.

You told me consistently, nothing in life is free.

I heard you, too late. That push,

a learned lesson or mistake moved me closer to my truth.

Stumbling and humbled, I discovered a change in me,

Now I’m that confident queen, seeing the world, buying homes

and other expensive things. Making art to honor Grandma.

The relentless lesson—self-motivation—Grandma

preached it from every seat: only you can free

yourself, forgive yourself. You are your home.

Yes, everyone needs that push,

but no one can push me like I push me.

That’s my truth.

Some people grow angry at the truth.

Stay out of grown folks business, Grandma

would snap. I am all her, and she’s all me.

If your mind is solid, even in a cage, you’re free.

Free of fear I continue to push

even when I’m alone forging my own home.