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Born from She-wolves
By Maryama Ahmed
18
Born from She-wolves,
a baby lamb bred in the hills of Jamaica
From green grass and fresh air,
Cuddled by his mother, she loved him so
but he died on his back.
Caught at the door,
he thought he was all grown up,
a man who could handle his own.
He roams the streets of Toronto
without a purpose he walks alone.
They fled from destruction and war.
To white hills of snow, and blistered hands.
She held his hand for years,
Fed him, clothed him and held him close.
He took his first steps in a small apartment in Palisades
A happy child, fatherless, she was his everything.
With his feet out the door, she tried to pull him back
Begged him to stay, as she watched him walk away;
Her heart broke that night.
She knew she lost him years ago but the tears came anyway.
A single, cold tear, frozen, she held for him.
But he died on his back,
with a gun in his hand.
A knock wakes her from slumber,
Heavy impatient hands bang on her door.
Disoriented she walks...
opening herself to fear, to grief.
They wait as she stands in shock,
Two police officers with horrible news:
‘Are you the mother of Jamal Richard maam’?
She nods her heavy head....
And waits for her life to unravel,
For the news to come,
For time to stop forever,
For darkness to overwhelm her.
‘Maam your son Jamal Richard died this morning at
3:45 AM’
‘He died from a bullet to the head, we’re very sorry
for your loss’
She falls to her knees as her world shatters.
She stops breathing as she remembers...
Her baby lamb,
His soft skin,
his smile,
his first step,
his laughter,
his laughter...
Her tears come
and they never stop.
She remembers the days in the park,
His first day of kindergarten,
His mother’s day cards,
His drawings,
Her baby who she held for years,
Who died on his back...
With a gun in his hand,
and a bullet to his head,
Her baby who she had now lost,
To an act of violence,
To a world of drugs and alcohol,
To a bullet that seeked vengence.
To a lifestyle,
To gangs,
To men who profited from her babies
death.
She lost him now to place she could
not follow.
And as she cried for her baby boy that
night,
She remembered that he was in god’s
hands now.
As her last tear fell to a cold and unforgiving
world
It begged for a chance to remember...
Her son who was born an innocent
child,
Like all other children happy and free
But he died on his back,
With his dignity nowhere to be found,
and his mother left behind...