JEANETTE

My mother had more than a handful of children;

so her strength was forced to multiply,

like a tumor that slept under a magnifying glass.

In the summer,

in record-degree heat,

she walked for miles;

feet too tired to complain.

She carried bags of groceries in her hands

that were equivalent to the weight of a two toddlers—sitting on both sides

of her hips.

But on the weekends, she’d wipe the opinions made by bystanders

with the back of her hand,

dancing: fearlessly, through the fire of tragedy.

And I learned how to survive by watching her swim through brick walls.

Maude Washington is a poet and freelance writer. Her work has appeared in The Blue Nib and The Faithful Creative.