Friday, April 20, 2012

Pouring

she looks like she’s sleeping
and the little boy says,
“momma?”
stark in the brittle air
he takes a step, another
soft clicks shake the fragile tranquility
“momma, momma”
more steps, soft little booms
quick, quick, hurry, hurry
splinter, splinter, crack, crack
his chubby fingers splay across her cheek
slack-jaw mouth is red
blue eyes glass
and the room crashes to the floor
raining sheets of mother-filled childhood
to puddle around his feet
as he screams

2 comments:

  1. this is scary and fearsome. Well written poem.

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    Replies
    1. Thank you, Clar. Is it wrong that those words make me so happy? XD

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