Thank you.You know what I used to love?I used to love how Mama would leave the presents under the treewith a note that said,Thank you for the milk and cookies.But I always knew it was her because of the handwriting.I knew it was her because of the rapping or tappinginto that soft spot, that place where black mothers live.In between smacking you upside your headand working extra hours for Christmas gifts.But I guess that's what Christmas is for.Maxing out credit cards and gifts galore.Clearing sales and clearing out stores.Just for smiles from pretty black girlsand the joy of beautiful black boys.My, what a time to be alive.But I'd love to take it backto when love was on the table.Fake notes and homemade cards,extra chores to guaranteeyour favorite toy.Because we don't get together like we used to.Something in the gumbo is different.Everybody's so distant.Family don't visit.Bikes being replaced by the latest gadgets.Affection and gratefulnesslike transactions.Christmas used to feellike magic.Bring back the big house.The swollen gumbo pots.Big alms from momoand pipes hanging from pawpaw's mouth.Bring me hometo New Orleans before the storm.To the very first day the south had snow.And we playedsort oflike this song.Like this song.SomethingI hate is so hard.And that understoodanswer phone.You knowThe ,but you finnsIt comes to something that's a евたfront time or a dark rip.When I should'll burnThank you.You