Email Poem

Your IP Address: 3.148.206.183

Your Email Address:

To Email Address:

Subject

Personal Note:

Poem Title:

Poem

When we were little, I was big. 
I held her hand crossing the street 
while mom watched the other two 
and carried our supplies for the week. 

She wiggled and pulled and fought
just to run, pick up rocks 
or make a wish on dandelion seeds. 
But if I asked her to stop, she stopped. 

Town to town, province to province, 
three in the back - her in the front. 
Packing what little could fit in our trunk, 
our parents searched for work and their love. 

Unbuckled in the back we played,  
sliding ourselves into each other, 
finding harmonies and blocking out arguments 
from the front - where she took the brunt. 

When I was young, she was younger. 
I was under the bridge, drunk-bonding with kids 
met that morning behind the class I just skipped. 
I should have been home, could have been her defender. 

Teens turned to twenties; we managed – we did. 
I did what came easy, she did the rest. 
When it started to happen, I don’t really remember. 
I got good at pretending; she just got better. 

I saw her from a block away, pregnant and tanned, 
crossing the street to her upgrading class. 
Pink and white sundress showed off her belly, 
and I felt the sense memory of her in my hand. 

Now it is her who holds back my struggle. 
I’ve been broken and healed then broken again; 
still under that bridge in so many ways. 
She is safe, she is home; she is big when I’m little.

September 17, 2021
Contest 'A lovely memory'
Sponsored by Regina McIntosh

CAPTCHA Preview

Type the characters you see in the picture

Required