Her voice
A black hand
That reached for me
Her tone
A mother; a teacher
Showing me
A world of her youth
Gritty
But always with dignity
Pain so deep
That pretty words
Like whore make up
Seemed so out of place
Hurt deep and dark
But never so bleak
To smother her optimism
I cling to her
As she led me
Through dark tunnels
Then into the light
Her pen
Like a chisel
Carving her words
Deep in my consciousness
