Mother’s Faded Wrapper

Mama lags a large head-pan.

On her back, weight and added angle.

At her sides, the baby's feet dangle.

Another child follows along in a run.

Extra strength she mastered in gain.

She has to bear this lot in pain.

It aches more than men could quench.

Her knotted faded wrapper was a sweat drench.

All you could hear was Ma-ma-ma-a-ma

to the rhythm of her fast-flowing gait.

Her nimble feet kiss sandstones in a flirt.

When the baby cried, feed me is all she heard.

Nothing pushes her to put the baby to her breast.

The milk bottle-lumps are souse in mud and sweat.

She always makes a clean nipple of it.

A contest no man can dare to attest.

A dedication to Mothers everywhere. Happy Mothers Day!!!