Wednesday
Rounded Nights
Perched in grief, she sat at the edge of the bedA continuous sorrow flowed easily from her lungs
That year seemed a decade really...
A decade where tears sang under my door every night calling me to her side
I was struck dumb at my mother's broken heart
I would have done anything to correct this error,
this miscalculation of our future
But my thirteen years held no education
My education was to follow this decade of a year
I became a daughter wise beyond my father's infliction upon my mother's heart
Wise beyond the belief that restitution would ever be made
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These words resonate ...
ReplyDeleteThank you Daryl. There is healing in the capturing of truth,no?
ReplyDeleteOmigosh. I am in the room with you as I reading this, and I can feel your mother's broken heart. Yours too.
ReplyDeleteGreat poetry, sweetie.
ReplyDeleteTom
Not much makes ME cry. That is usually my job. Beautiful and haunting.
ReplyDeletePowerful! I feel the real pain of a real person, not some flaky half-baked expression of ernestness. You get to the heart of the matter, thank-you.
ReplyDeleteNo, thank you.
ReplyDelete