Mama tells my baby she
walks like her grandaddy;
a man she doesn’t even know
and will probably never meet.
I’m tempted to tell her that Sweet
Baby cannot be an’thing like a stranger
or someone she’s never laid eyes on
or the man who showed me
how to cut down a mighty tree
by separating it from its roots.

©2015 Tyra C. Owens


Published by Tyra

"Poetry is at the center of me. So I freak letters and words to birth imagery in hopes that its conception delivers more meaning to my reality. More simply, I write and this is my marvelous testimony." Sincerely, Tyra

%d bloggers like this: