A woman

Folded by the hands of time

That took from her her youthful crimes

Of thinking that she could outrun the arms

Of  dreamers who are dead and gone?

She died.


Her daughter

Leaping, laughing in another tongue

Whose wag and swagger kept her young,

She loved to live and lived and loved,

Outgrowing all the friends she used to think of,

Sadly, living in a land of hate

That loves to broadly scare and bait,

She died.


And younger still

Her sister’s sweet twirling on the asphalt sheets,

Learning to hide in city streets,

But not like the playground’s game she misses.


She had to hide from bullet’s hisses;

Their naked heat too cold to beat;

Their kisses she was bound to meet:

She died.


Another’s hunger, her stomach churning

While across the pond our cooks were burning

Tossed out culinary waste

But not so far her tongue could taste.

Our swigs and swallows depressed us all,

While her stomach’s hollow bursting called

So silently; that tribal mom?

She died.


That neighbor mom?

Her son is gone across the globe to keep from harm

Another mom whose son is gone

To Tango, Foxtrot, Swing a gun.

Her card danced full, her heart at rest,

Hung out to sweat the wait of decades’ pressed thumbs

Buried deep within her brow,

The worry no mom can not know how.

She got word, today:

The early mourning knock on the door

Was too much for her to chore.

She died.



Hate destroyed,

Honor ignored,

Anger poured,

Fists soared,

Innocents implored,

But who is innocent when peoples’ cheers

Drown out the cries of others’ fears,

When power is gift

And fighting shifts

Are thought the norm?

We all deform

And twist and chase

The truth we want to be in place!


As long as love sits not aside,

A daughter’s sister’s mom will die.


Leave a Comment

Twitter Auto Publish Powered By :