It may not be a poem in the formal literary sense, but it's certainly poetic. At the heart of it is this fusion of Maya Angelou and your grandmother, and the linking of distant realities and their now immediate presence together in your life/consciousness - that's the essence of poetry. The first time I read this I just read it for its feelings and they tugged mightily at my heart. In subsequent readings the writer in me saw the need for revision, we have trained ourselves to be alert to these things, it's a double vision of language, both its truth and its beauty, both meaning and craft. If you revise it, it WILL be a poem in the formal sense. But never discard this draft, it is a precious reminder of the love you shower on both Maya and Momo, and that's priceless, isn't it? (Report) Reply
My mother's gifts of courage to me were both large and small. I met loves and lost loves. I dared to travel to Africa to allow my son to finish high school in Cairo. I lived with a South African freedom fighter whom I met when he was at the United Nations petitioning for an end to apartheid. We both tried to make our relationship firm and sturdy. When our attempts failed, I took my son to Ghana and the freedom fighter returned to southern Africa. Guy entered the University of Ghana. My mother wrote to me and said, "Airplanes leave here every day for Africa. If you need me, I will come."