Singing with Mama Maya

We sang our song of freedom
and tried to mend our clipped wings.
We cried great rivers of sadness
and used them to wash every sting.

 

The song may have been beautiful;
we were in no place to know.
For each verse we sang was exhausting,
powerful, painful, and slow.

 

We opened our throats to sing
And I reached out to hold mama’s hand.
For she would not be there forever,
But she sang until the very end.

 

We sang our song of freedom
and imagined it forming a blade
that would cut our ties and
destroy the cages- slicing through bars of rage.

 

Even though our mama is gone now,
I still continue to sing.
Because in this song Mama believed
and I carry her hopes on my clipped wings.