Shard

Boy looking scared through the handrail of a staircaseMy mother left when I was three

I remember her at the front door

Surrounded by the winter coats

The National Geographic magazines on the shelf framed her;

Telling my father

She wouldn’t stay.

Her fear and determination

Echoed in my ears

As I looked through

The  banister.

Tousled hair, half awake-

Possibly drunk-

He dies then.

I only realize that later.

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Posted on August 11, 2016, in poem, Poetry, thoughts, Uncategorized, WP Writing Challenge and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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