Tuesday, October 9, 2012

Death of a Friend, Poetry to Slam

She woke that day,
Like so many days before,
Seemed to me that this day,
Wasn’t that different than those before.

But, I was not inside of her head,
I was not there,
As she awoke,
Probably awaken and stirred
By the little voice
That woke her most mornings,

That little voice wakes me now, too…
And it often seems
That little voice is the only one I have in my world
We lamented over the loneliness
Of being a single mother, so many times. 

But, we agreed,
It is what kept us both,
Pushing on through.

But, she awoke one day,
Not so different than those before
Dropping her baby off at school
As she drove away,
Dressed in black.
She drove away that morning,
And I wonder of she looked back.
When she drove away that day…
I don’t think she thought-
For a second
That she’d never return.

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