My mother's old house

My mother's old house sits on an old plot of land.

It's raised the 5 of us, being the last one, tells you how old it is.

Our old-fashioned chairs, the unplastered walls, the doorless rooms,

and her old stained clothes,

all nurtured and raised me, us.

We grow and forget the things our parents taught us. (Courtesy Photo)

The unplastered walls, with neither a ceiling,

nor electricity, and an unfinished floor,

cold as ice in the night or whenever it did rain.

Her old books with torn covers,

piled up in old recycled boxes,

missing back-end pages.

I remember reading them as a child,

lost in thought, left in suspense without an ending.

Little did I know how it was going to impact me as an adult.

Her disciplinarian character and tough love raised me.

You’d watch her hold herself with poise and respect,

even when we didn't have much at home.

She never lost her dignity in the neighborhood.

An admirable example of boldness and bravery.

She is an innovator.

She’d recollect tiny worn-out pieces of soap into a small bucket,

and mold them into a whole new round piece made of several colors.

We hated it but It did save the day a lot of times.

My mind wonders when and how I began to forget everything she is.

Drawing away from all the virtues shed raised us by;

the fear of God, respect, authenticity, resilience

straightforwardness, morality, and patience.

The world is indeed different from everything she taught me.

Some things I had to unlearn and learn the hard way.

How did I forget to run back to her,

when things are out of control, and I am unable to handle them,

for her help, opinion, her advice?

I messed up!

Until that day, I realized id forgotten all my mother

and all her old house ever taught me.