The Old Woman in the Shoe

 

The hands are cracked and the body aches

I am the old woman

Three decades

Lost to dreams

Had my chance.

He seemed like a gift- unknown in my innocence.

Too soon domesticity became my God.

 

Four children followed three.

The silver moon never shines for me

It is over

The floors are dirty

Another child grows

Nothing to do but brood.

Blamed for my sex

Loving each wet face that is pulled from my body

Assured that they will be entrusted to me; penniless and alone

Only to be ripped from my embrace too soon to feel the imprint of my love.

 

Five children followed four.

And I become a symbol

Of cruelty- of anger- mother.

 

Please give me hope:

Show me the colour in the morning

The light in the day

The stars in the sky

So I might not dwell on

Now.

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Posted on January 2, 2013, in Poetry and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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