I love my mother, 
and so on this day of celebration I only 
whisper her name 
as one does a word of prayer and keep it sacred 
second to the name of God 
as though saying it louder will dishonor the power of love 
showered on me by her tenderness, 
the perfume of her graceful, giving heart. 

I shove her virtues in a box, 
wrap that in gold foil, tie it 
with a wide purple satin bow, and 
hide it with other treasures 
beneath holy oaks and violets in a secret, hallowed field. 

I hide it from the eyes of evil spirits who've inhabited 
the hearts of old friends and lovers, 
those who've plundered the posh boutiques of my soul 
and dragged me naked through shattered glass in my spirit 
as the Klan has dragged the battered bodies 
of black boys along Texas dirt roads, 
laughing at how rhythmically nappy heads bounce hitting 
bump after bump and Dixie beer bottles on the way 
to lynching. 

I hide my bounty lest the possessed return, 
vicious phantoms in the dark, anxious to snuff more light. 

I love my mother, 
and so what I must say of her wonders 
I will sing to her softly on the phone 
lest evil hear me boasting of her beauty, 
see me happy, and roam in my direction. 

Yes! God saves His people, but 
I've seen Satan one too many times this year.