Mymama   I remember you & I walking even though I was only 7 I was protecting -- Mymama. one word three syllables -- Mymama. I've been speaking this word before I was born, when my spirit chose: your egg your womb your soft hands to hold mine and your creamy coffee eyes to look down with caring and understanding "Mama I'ma buy you a fur coat . . . Mama, someday when I'm rich, I'ma buy you a house." "OK, baby." Mymama would say, "Try. Do your best." When my dad would ask, "Is that all you can do?" I see why you married Rafiq and divorced: him being the idealist you being the realist trying and trying working -- "How can I make it work?" How can I raise three children on nothing but 12 hour days of 8 dollars an hour of 7 days a week of "Hey, I'll work the holiday shift. I'll take that extra shift. Maybe with the extra money I can buy the kids something special -- like those cookies they like so much . . ." of full load, 15 units a semester for 4 years going back to school at 38 years old, because "I'm not gonna kill myself forever. When I'm out of this, my babies will eat better." Forget Rafiq of me and my sister being too young and lazy to understand how precious and necessary a clean house was when all you had was your children, your home, and five hours to sleep waste thirty minutes to argue about a messy house. I'm sorry. Mama -- I'ma buy you a fur coat. Mama -- someday when I'm rich, I'ma buy you a house. If I could give her something to ease her pain If I could give her whatever she wanted I would Mymama. Brenda Joyce Adams became Saisa Malik Bilal. Her belly grew three times to transform three spirits into three beautiful babies. Life. Mymama knew the preciousness of life. Mymama was there: Washington, DC, 1968 Black Man's Development Center one of those militant sisters in tie-dye swirls of blues, greens, and yellows African print galays and matching sarongs. Mymama was beautiful, even smooth rich brown skin, wondrous white teeth, gentle, pretty smile, thick, soft afro and coffee creamy eyes, merciful, god-like eyes. Mymama Fought the man, not by loving a revolutionary, but by bearing and raising revolutions: I remember her-- lioness. Those same coffee creamy eyes drowning a white male social worker, soft lips pulled back, brilliant white teeth snarling, "I will kill you before I let you take my children!" The man stood reserved, but had eyes full of fear. You see, Mymama rarely got ghetto, but when she did -- you were scared. Mama -- I'ma buy you a fur coat. Mama -- someday when I'm rich, I'ma buy you a house. I remember you & I walking even though I was only 7 I was protecting -- Mymama