I like puddles
So I jump in a puddle
It makes me muddled
I’m pretty confused
So take me to Dr.Lee
So that I can function correctly
Then I can jump in a puddle again
Thanks.

I have a puzzle
It puzzles me
The whole picture takes up with a thousand puzzles
It leaves me muddled
Help me fit the puzzles
Then it won’t leave me befuddled
Thanks.
That’s all

The moon is known for a mysterious elixir that she produces
People down on Earth bow and worship the almighty queen, more than her husband, Helios
The moon expresses her satisfaction: merrily guzzling down a goblet of juice from Neptune stirred with milk from Saturn, with a little pinch of the stars

A little tipsy she becomes, hiccupping and giggling through the night
As she is befuddled, she starts to explode in light so radiant
Slowly, she starts to vibrate and tremble and rumble and wobble
With the last of her strength, she lets out a cloud full and heavy of her emotions
The lady produced a cloud full of silvery light

The light turned to a heavy liquid, a concoction when it reached Earth
People gathered buckets and cauldron to capture the birth of the tears
The people gathered the mixture and boiled it over their hearth
It bubbled and foamed and dripped from the sides with no care

Excitement and zeal shook the universe
One by one everyone peered into their cauldrons filled with the tears for it bubbled no more
There it was the tears of the moon, so pearlescent that it swirled around like a galaxy
The smell so heavenly but heavy that no one can describe
Goblets raised and heads lifted, the earthlings drained the liquid down their parched throats
Like butter, it was, so smooth that no one could feel the liquid against their windpipes

The liquid that looked so precious
Looked like a potion filled with gifts and fortunes and magic
But it wasn’t
This was a cauldron full of the moon’s agony and hurt and regrets and burden
A sip would hurt a mortal but a cupful
You’re dead
The mortals fell one by one for possessing all of the moon’s pain was just too much

White Bird
White with a tint of dirt
Imperfect
Perches on top of my thoughts
Sovereign
Sways its neck gracefully
Sophisticated
Feathers flutter with the wind
Delicate
White Bird:
Impoverlicated

She wakes up like an early bird at five to get our family going
No, no, she doesn’t get ready for herself but prepares our meals first
My momma slides the buttermilk pancake mix out of our small pantry
Puff, puff, the cloud of flour rises out the package as it opened with a pop
Like she memorized the recipe, she cracks an egg
Pours the perfect amount of the mix
And pours the water on top
Making the top crumble from the heaviness of the liquid

Whip, whip, she takes out her whisk and gracefully stirs the thick batter
She grabs a ladle and scoops the batter and drips it onto the hot pan greasy with oil
Yes, yes, the right consistency makes the pancake rise fluffily and moist
Satisfied she flips it like no big deal and like a penny
The other side turns to a nice shade of warm umber

Flop, flop, three pancakes slide smoothly onto my mother’s favorite ceramic plate
Slides a thin sheet of butter and squeezes the maple syrup bottle from Trader Joe’s
Ooze, ooze, the syrup heavy, as if full of burdens and pains, slimes the whole pancake
A pancake seems like nothing
But if it is
Made with love
It is the best pancake a momma can make

Thanks, momma.