She sang me to sleep

with wishes too big for her own hands—

“Somewhere over the rainbow…”

words that floated through cracked walls,

wrapped around my dreams.

Mama, with her tired eyes and hopeful heart,

carries stars in her pockets

even when the world weighs her down.

She works herself thin,

but her love is always thick enough

to fill the room,

even when we fight,

even when we break each other’s hearts

in quiet, aching ways.

We are the same kind of stubborn—

two winds clashing,

both sure we’re right,

both too tender underneath it all.

She holds a fear of God,

not of faith itself,

but of the men who wear His name like armor—

men who betrayed her,

twisted grace into something sharp.

Still, she kept me dressed and ready,

sent me through those church doors,

because education,

because hope,

because she wanted better for me

even when her own faith was bruised.

When I stumble,

it’s her voice I hear—

still singing,

still lifting me

over every storm and silence.

She is my tether and my wings,

my first song,

my fiercest love.

And no matter how far I roam,

she keeps me reaching—

somewhere over the rainbow,

where her dreams for me

still shine.