A Poem Where Life Isn’t Crystal, But You Better Climb It Anyway
ABS Believes:
Life won’t lay down a carpet—it’ll throw you a splintered staircase and expect grace in every limp.
Sometimes the most powerful poetry comes from a tired woman who didn’t ask for metaphors but had plenty.
Langston Hughes: The Bard of Bare Truths
Langston Hughes wasn’t here for fluffy verses. He wrote with iron in his pen and jazz in his punctuation. In Mother to Son, he gives us the most grounded poem ever delivered: a speech from a mother to her child, no lace, no lies, just a staircase—and not a good one.
It’s the poetry of realism. Of scraped knees and don’t-you-dare-quit’s. It doesn’t weep. It leans in close and says, “I’ve been through worse. Keep moving.”
The Opening: No Crystal, No Cushion, Just Truth
“Well, son, I’ll tell you:
Life for me ain’t been no crystal stair.”
First line, instant slap of wisdom. The speaker doesn’t offer a warm hug. She opens with a hard fact—and that too by metaphorically slamming a chandelier.
A crystal stair? That’s for fairytales. This is about wooden slats, rusted nails, and stairs that creak like the universe forgot to oil destiny.
Modern Take:
“I didn’t get the marble staircase. I got one from a haunted house clearance sale, and I’m still climbing it in heels.”
The Staircase Gets Worse—Splinters, Tacks, and Zero Lighting
“It’s had tacks in it,
And splinters,
And boards torn up…”
This isn’t just tough—it’s aggressively unlivable. It’s an IKEA nightmare built by fate with no screws or instructions.
Each line drops another inconvenience like a passive-aggressive universe:
Tacks = Tiny pain that’s consistent and rude.
Splinters = Delayed suffering.
Boards torn up = Chaos that looks personal.
“And places with no carpet on the floor—
Bare.”
No luxury. No comfort. Just emotional linoleum. That “—Bare” hits like a door slam from someone who’s tired of being polite about their trauma.
But Did She Stop? Ha. Try Again.
“But all the time
I’s been a-climbin’ on…”
This is the line where every motivational poster should retire in shame. Because it’s not just perseverance—it’s perseverance without applause.
“And reachin’ landin’s,
And turnin’ corners,
And sometimes goin’ in the dark
Where there ain’t been no light.”
These aren’t just metaphors—they’re life events:
Landings = Small wins. A breath before another push.
Corners = Unexpected shifts—life’s detours.
No light = That stretch of time where no plan, prayer, or Pinterest quote helps.
And yet… she climbed.
The Mother’s Final Plea: No Sitting Down, No Turning Around
“So boy, don’t you turn back.
Don’t you set down on the steps
’Cause you finds it’s kinder hard.”
If she were in 2024, she’d be texting this while paying bills and roasting society. This isn’t gentle encouragement—it’s a threat wrapped in tired love.
“Don’t you fall now—
For I’s still goin’, honey,
I’s still climbin’,
And life for me ain’t been no crystal stair.”
Full circle. She ends where she started—but with the added force of a life survived.
She doesn’t stop to check if he heard.
She doesn’t ask for applause.
She just keeps climbing. And you can bet she’s still side-eyeing anyone who thinks she should’ve stopped.
Interpretation: Motherhood, Metaphor, and the Original Life Coach
This poem doesn’t lie. It doesn’t sugarcoat. It shows how maternal strength doesn’t always come with hugs—it often comes with warnings shouted over a broken banister.
This is a love letter disguised as survival strategy.
The mother is a staircase. Not perfect. Not polished. But solid enough to keep others from falling.
She doesn’t have time for Hallmark lines—she’s too busy not dying.
Witty Echoes & Present-Day Parallels
“Life for me ain’t been no crystal stair…”
2024 version: “My elevator was out, the escalator collapsed, and I’ve been climbing broken expectations since Tuesday.”
“Tacks, splinters, boards torn up…”
Translation: All the people, policies, and potholes pretending to be character-building obstacles.
“Don’t you set down on the steps…”
Passive-aggressive life tip: Rest if you must, but you better be lacing your boots while you do it.
“I’s still climbin’…”
Mic. Drop. Soul. Intact.
Why This Poem Still Climbs Off Every Page
Because hardship doesn’t come with instruction manuals.
Because mothers are often the first philosophers.
Because surviving isn’t always poetic—but it can be if Langston Hughes writes it.
And because crystal stairs are overrated when you have grit.
The Literary Scholar folds the scroll and places it gently on a worn step, still echoing with the voice of a woman who refused to fall in silence.
Signed,
The Literary Scholar
Where poetry doesn’t promise comfort—it offers courage
Where metaphors climb even when the world doesn’t want them to
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