Little Girls In Winter Coats

 

 

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Little girls in winter coats,
They viewed the fall as playing,
Baby sitting on the floor,
Milk is gone, she needs some more.

Mama lying on the bed,
No one knows, but she is dead,
Sister tries some mouth to mouth,
While all their lives start heading south.

Running to the neighbor's house,
Neighbor comes along with spouse,
Ambulance drives down our street,
Why are they covering her head with that sheet?

Daddy home from Sunday mass,
The priest comes in ...and no one asks,
All is quiet, except for weeping,
What is going on...am I sleeping?

That's what happens at four years old,
And you see a sudden death unfold,
Looking back is different now,
It's all worked for the best somehow.

I think that if she never died,
I'd still be me on the inside.

 

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11:36 PM 4/15/2013 ©

 

Edited 4/16/2013 7:22 PM

 

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Author's Notes/Comments: 

A poem about the day my mother died.

 

http://www.postpoems.org/authors/nightlight1220/poem/962090

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burkej1h's picture

thank you for sharing this

thank you for sharing this

nightlight1220's picture

You're welcome, burkej1h.

You're welcome, burkej1h. Growing up my father was so war torn from the korean and WWII, that even the slightest mention of my mother's name sometimes sent him into a frenzy with PTSD. Many times I guess it was the'straw that broke the camel's back' when he had too much already to bear. I felt this issue is at it's time to speak out about, hopefully helping some children to have a little bit easier time in 'raising their parents' ;-)


...and he asked her, "do you write poetry? Because I feel as if I am the ink that flows from your quill."

"No", she replied, "but I have experienced it. "