My Mom is Harriett Tubman

She created her own underground railroad
alluding abusive persecution
sacrificing dark man for son
escaping the enslavement of toxic love
the chains of loss
the raping lies
the beatings of regret
the whippings of judgement
the lynchings of abandonment
and at the risk of her own life

She came back time and time again
rescuing her own heart
throughout the sentences of character and place
transcending the imprisonment of emotional turmoil
an insurrection all of her own
breaking down the walls that barricaded her freedom
she came back time and time again
rescuing her heart
even when others told her to let it go
to move on and start over
that she’d be better off without her heart
her heart may be better off without her
still she trekked
and journeyed further and deeper than most will ever voyage in a lifetime

She never forgot that she was a mother
no matter what she went through
no matter how heavy the weight she bared
she came back for us
each of her four kids
the four chambers of her one heart
knowing the possibility of a chamber or two rejecting her
but she weathered each eventual heart attack
because she’d become accustomed to the battles of heart
those once foreign and now all too familiar battles, made her

She had never knew true peace
embracing each war
standing tall after the dust settled as a Goddess of War
Like Harriet Tubman, but her name is Amanda Wardlow!
the last name sounds so fitting
My Mom was just as fierce brave and courageous as Ms Tubman
and her whole life has been an underground railroad
to which may not be properly appreciated until she’s no longer around
and they will be in awe of her strength survival and willing sacrifices

She is history embodied
and a story to be shared for the many women of past and future generations
but also as a testament to the extent of human capability and resilience
because her index of love knew no boundaries
however flawed she may be
or may have been
she was human in that way
audaciously flawed to perfection
humility amongst certainty
she knows who she is
accepting she may never live to be fully understood or appreciated
and that’s what Heroines are made of.