Mother at the Gate
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Gate or Gates, Constance La France, 7/7/2025
The gossamer on a child’s frame, looked new and ancient,
all at once. A ghostly smile, a trick and treat, directed at me.
No wrinkles on the hand of time, his godforsaken finger
pointed at the stabbed pigeon. I followed the tracks of blood
down to the river. I seemed to have no choice, in this misty
sequence. A grief-stricken mother lay next to her child.
A solo, red shoe alongside the body. Gossamer-boy wore
the other shoe, pristine-white. A wicked groaning bellowed
from inside the frame of this devil’s child. The mother moves
beside a grave and deposits dead roses on her son’s tomb.
She lost both her children that night. One she claims
a t the gate… the other is left to his fate.
Copyright © Kim Rodrigues | Year Posted 2025
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