I told Jesus how my mother broke loaves of bread,
fed me and the dogs. How there some nights
we only had fluids as food. Not to nourish but to fool
our stomachs into believing they weren't empty.
I started telling Jesus how my mother's strength
tastes bitter from the sacrifice of minimum wage shifts.
How old ages weighs her shoulders down quickly.
I confessed to him
when mother fed me
a spoonful of her strength
I hid sugar cubes
under my tongue.
I remembered Mary Poppins' song while holding back tears
A spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down
the medicine go down, the medicine go down.
Jesus laughed. I raised my hand and silenced him.
I told him to pray to my mother, beg her to not stop
believing in God. I explained to him it's blind faith
that's keeping her alive.
He became silent. I looked at Jesus one last time.
While walking away from him I hoped he believed
in me enough that I would one day have the strength
to tell my mother God's not here...yet.
© 2017, Raquel Campos All Rights Reserved
Picture: My mother & I in 2013 (Can you tell I love her?)
