I watched my mother count money
as though every note had a heartbeat.
Bills gathered around her like hungry birds,
and she kept dividing what little she had
into pieces large enough for all of us.
She worked while the world slept,
carried burdens she never placed on our shoulders,
and smiled with a tiredness
I was too young to understand
but old enough to remember.
There was a particular pain in watching her struggle,
loving someone whose hands were always busy
building a life that kept collapsing beneath its cost.
I wanted to help,
but childhood had empty pockets.
Sometimes I watched her come home
and wondered how much exhaustion
a person's body could hide behind a smile.
She rarely called her sacrifices sacrifices.
She simply called them life.
I learned early that love can be expensive,
not because it asks for money,
but because it asks people to give pieces of themselves
they may never get back.
My mother gave many of hers.
So her sacrifices became seeds beneath my skin.
Every dream I carry remembers her name.
I want to build a life where the people I love
do not have to choose between survival and peace,
where her labour finally has somewhere to rest.
About the poet:
Olatinwo Yushau is a compassionate, deeply intuitive poet, performer, and author whose creative practice centers on survival, resilience, and the human evolution through adversity
