Literary Mama writing about the many faces of motherhood
… don’t spoil her …

No comments

I'd let you sneak in and sleep on my back
you liked to play "lion" and chew on my ear
drowning my earholes
I could smell the candy
you weren't supposed to have
in every breath

you'd nuzzle into my neck
covering the picture of Mami
etched along the breadth of my shoulders
from nape to tailbone

you said you liked sleeping on Mami's picture
because you wanted to be pretty just like her

when you'd ask me questions
I had no answers for
I'd tell you to go to sleep
you talked too much
just like her

kneeling in St. Peters
I bring morning roses for you

tell granddad no candy tonight


C. Z. Heyward is an emerging poet and playwright whose work has appeared in a number of journals including: Serendipity Magazine, Poetry Quarterly, and The Sacred Cow. When he’s not writing, he enjoys live jazz in dark bars and riding his vintage motorcycles.


More from



Comments are now closed for this piece.