Always Mother

A blog about sex and sexuality which is honoured to salute the  power of  mothers who have  in  many ways,  shaped our sexual identity. I remember and appreciate my Mom  giving me  “the talk” when I was just about  nine years old (a really brave move  back then). She didn’t  just dump  the then popular book “On Becoming a Woman”  at me, but took some  time to explain a few things;  in fact she explained many things. I was so well informed that  it was easy for  me  to share with my less knowledgeable  though older friends; maybe an early genesis to what I do now (smile). She embraced my trek into womanhood and taught me how to celebrate  it. Now as an adult daughter with my own children, I know that being mother is a “life-role” that never ages with time.

So enjoy this award winning  poem “ALWAYS MOTHER” which I wrote especially for her a few years back. I re-dedicate it to her today! It resonates with both males and females because even if we are not all mothers, we all have or have had a mother and usually, she has been our original teacher of unconditional love. And to all mothers who read my blog,  have a great day!

Always Mother

I sat

on her lap

digging little fingers

under square white nails.

There was no polish there,

no shiny “cutex”

like the glamour girls

of Mod-Squad fame.


She never sported a ‘fro

or carried

heavy-shadowed eyelids;

just a small dusting

of pink-powder

and a broach,

with millions of jewels like a peacock’s tail

preening with pride

on a partial safety-pin.

It was the only glamour

the church allowed then,

that and the dusky gold

of a simple wedding-band

barely glinting

on a knuckled hand,

that and the glory of being woman,

the glory of being mother.


She always smelt

like sweet-flour dumplings

and like the spice

sprinkled in my “cocoa-tea”;

there was comfort

in the corner of her pink neck

where no moles grew.


My mother is high brown

or so the teacher said

at my school;

it somehow made her

more important

more queenly;


and the fact that

she never worked.

In fact

I had thought

that all mothers

stayed at home

and cooked soup on Wednesdays

or steamed fish into neat rolls

for their little girls to eat

with cubes of white bread

and orange gravy.


My Mother didn’t cling

like a vice,

she let me slowly go

like an eagerly bouncing Easter kite

nearly touching clouds,

‘till I grew up,

down the aisle

with the white dress

she had also made,

leaning ever so slightly

on the arm of my reluctant father

and when

my first son

she held,

she sang

a song of sweet remembrance,

a song of

always Mother.

© Denise J Charles 2012: All rights reserved.


* cocoa-tea is a special warm beverage made from powdered cocoa with spice added, used in the Caribbean.

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