December 1, 2012


when you woke us up before

the sun had risen,

packing away the Farmer’s Market goodies-

cakes, cookies, and even a dress i

made perfectly for Barbie-

the amazing buildings you

created for our dolls

from cardboard-

the way you sang us to sleep-

how i never want to hear anybody

else sing “you are my sunshine”, ever-

how you read to us,

and encouraged me to write-

and trained sister’s lark-like voice-


the anger

the failed protection attempts…

the violence…

the torture…

the hospital visit when i couldn’t visit you-

were you going to die?

not this time-

there were more catering jobs to be done,

more pasta to be made;

we sat and watched while it came spinning from

the machine that gripped to our

kitchen table-

there were more trips to the Farmer’s Market,

a lady bought the dress i’d made for Barbie,

and even complimented

my shoddy workmanship-

i got stung by a yellow-jacket, and survived-

however more memories there are,

each of them are clouded by pain,

distorted by suffering-

causing me to miss you violently-

perhaps another time,


neither of us are going anywhere-

but if i do,

perhaps i shall meet you in the




Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: