Janetta Harrington | + Follow Poet |
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Narrative 2005

i stood at the mirror
one sunday afternoon
all my pretty gone
i was sixty years too soon

i knew i could turn back
the clock a little
in image if i just tried
that is not why the 
tears came

i looked deep into
my eyes looking for
the answer of why....
why i squandered my
life on a persons  of
unsound character

i thought of two young
men in my family
that took a gun to
end it all

i thought of my best friend
who told me he 
would kill himself
and he did

i tried to stop the 
tears but 
they came anyway
as i recalled a
old refrain

sometimes a woman
gotta cry

i took to my couch
sat staring at the wall
a old friend walked in
and said "what is 
wrong with you?"

i told it all...
all the pain
of the past 
of my children
of rejections that
struck me like a knife

he said the the old
pep her up.   "you did
the best you could"

i knew i didn't.  i was
selfish.  i confessed my
sins as if he were a priest
as i sobbed relentlessly

i said this is not a pity party
this is the cold hard truth
served cold

he put his sunglasses
down and gathered me
in his arms in a hug

i soked his shoulder
i cried for all the times
i had never done much

i deserve this
the tiredness
the pain

i walked him to the door
he said you will be alright
i said i would never be alright
again and that is why i cried.

and then.....

my mama died.

Copyright © Janetta Harrington | Year Posted 2009

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