Saturday, January 22, 2011

Little Girl

Born in the harsh bright lights of a hospital room the first thing she heard was her mothers yelling voice

whisked away to routine and strangers she opened her eyes

a new place

a few days later while her diaper was being changed

again she heard the mother voice

high pitched and needy

hands once again rescued her

a pattern emerged

life was a puzzle

figuring out the fickle needs of the mother voice and adapting to it

going to stay with other mother types on weekends

Becoming adroit at being strong

while wanting/craving a chance to be a little girl

curling up on your bed at night listening to alcohol fueled rants and knowing that your absolute job is to mother your mother

not knowing that tears drip for you in heaven.


  1. I can substitue Father in this and it will be the've touched on something very emotional, yet giving tribute to your having lived through it...a strength...a red thread.

    My Godstars Woman you are deep! I so love your words!

  2. this is beautiful. the ending is so sad, but i think that shift in responsibility happens to a lot of us. Lovee your poems :)

  3. lovely word flow.

    invite you to join Jingle poetry potluck today, free and fun...

    first time participant is welcome to share 1 to 3 old poems, or poems unrelated to our theme,
    hope to see you in.


  4. My parents did not need parents, but they sure had the same problems... now you love them.. but need to keep them at a distance to stay mentally healthy.. Much strength to you.. Excellent write