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Poem: “More”

Back then,
I wasn’t much more
than “Lemme try”
and “I want another.”
Arms held high,
reaching out for the sky,
reaching out for mother.

My bed was a ship,
my toys the crew,
on a magical trip to Mars.
And as I grew,
an explorer in cut-off jeans,
dreaming beneath the stars
of a time when I’d be grown.

Punching a path of my own
through the painful teens.
First kiss, clenched fist,
school days gone by.
The whole world opened wide
as I spread my wings
and learned to fly

Looking back,
there is only one
who was always there
with a place to rest
or a place to hide
when the world
had me on the run.

Mother,
you didn’t come and go
like the towns I’ve seen
and the people I’ve met.
All the times we hurt each other so,
but still we grew.
And the older I get,
the more I understand,
the more I love you.

— Angel Leigh McCoy, for Mom (1940-1996), Miss you. —

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