she fed me stories of soil
hands calloused with quiet strength
her name carried seventeen echoes
a lineage buried in hard ground
i called her ma ma zil
before my tongue knew her name
zilda belonged to fields and fire
to a family that stretched thin
she gave everything she could
to fill the hollows of hunger
no wealth but love in her veins
her eyes knew my every need
pressed into her sturdy arms
i learned of sacrifice and survival
her life a hymn to resilience
she was poor yet endlessly rich
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Author:
gray0328 (
Offline) - Published: July 5th, 2025 10:50
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 19
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett
Offline)
Comments1
A lovely portrait of a woman in poetry it conveys the picture well. Most lovely
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