Mother: A Cradle to Hold Me

  It is true

  I was created in you.

  It is also true

  That you were created for me.

  I owned your voice.

  It was shaped and tuned to soothe me.

  Your arms were molded

  Into a cradle to hold me, to rock me.

  The scent of your body was the air

  Perfumed for me to breathe.

  Mother,

  During those early, dearest days

  I did not dream that you had

  A large life which included me,

  For I had a life

  Which was only you.

  Time passed steadily and drew us apart.

  I was unwilling.

  I feared if I let you go

  You would leave me eternally.

  You smiled at my fears, saying

  I could not stay in your lap forever

  That one day you would have to stand

  And where would I be?

  You smiled again.

  I did not.

  Without warning you left me,

  But you returned immediately.

  You left again and returned,

  I admit, quickly,

  But relief did not rest with me easily

  You left again, but again returned.

  You left again, but again returned.

  Each time you reentered my world

  You brought assurance.

  Slowly I gained confidence.

  You thought you knew me,

  But I did know you,

  You thought you were watching me,

  But I did hold you securely in my sight,

  Recording every moment,

  Memorizing your smiles, tracing your frowns.

  In your absence

  I rehearsed you,

  The way you had of singing

  On a breeze,

  While a sob lay

  At the root of your song.

  The way you posed your head

  So that the light could caress your face

  When you put your fingers on my hand

  And your hand on my arm,

  I was struck with a sense of health,

  Of strength and very good fortune.

  You were always

  The heart of happiness to me,

  Bringing nougats of glee,

  Sweets of open laughter.

  During the years when you knew nothing

  And I knew everything, I loved you still.

  Condescendingly of course,

  From my high perch

  Of teenage wisdom.

  I grew older and

  Was stunned to find

  How much knowledge you had gleaned,

  And so quickly.

  Mother I have learned enough now

  To know I have learned nearly nothing;.

  On this day

  When mothers are being honored,

  Let me thank you

  That my selfishness, ignorance, and mockery

  Did not bring you to

  Discard me like a broken doll

  Which had lost its favor.

  I thank you that

  You still find something in me

  To cherish, to admire, and to love.

  I thank you, Mother.

  I love you.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Poet, writer, performer, teacher, and director

  MAYA ANGELOU was raised in Stamps, Arkansas,

  and then moved to San Francisco. In addition to her

  bestselling autobiographies, beginning with I Know

  Why the Caged Bird Sings, she has also written a

  cookbook, Hallelujah! The Welcome Table; five poetry

  collections, including / Shall Not Be Moved and

  Shaker, Why Doni You Sing?; and the celebrated poem

  “On the Pulse of Morning,” which she read at the

  inauguration of President William Jefferson Clinton,

  and “A Brave and Startling Truth,” written at the request

  of the United Nations and read at its fiftieth anniversary.

  Her poem “Amazing Peace” was read at the

  lighting of the National Christmas Tree

  in December 2005.

  Copyright © 2006 by Maya Angelou

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Random House,

  an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group,

  a division of Random House, Inc., New York.

  RANDOM HOUSE and colophon are registered

  trademarks of Random House, Inc.

  eISBN: 978-0-307-49691-1

  www.atrandom.com

  246897531

  v3.0

 

 

  Maya Angelou, Mother: A Cradle to Hold Me

  (Series: # )

 

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