Replay
Replay
The woman pushes the stroller
I look up; the pale sliver of moon
white skin, with veins
Where am I? What is this world?
You are just a child. I am your mother.
I am a woman
Steering the wheel through questions
The moon is too pale in the dark
I look up for the answers
Drive and crash into a twisting tree
someone’s backyard.
The man is beside me, muttering
If you don’t know how to drive, don’t
I do know how to drive
I’m just tired.
He looks up; winter carries away his sighs.
I lean crumpled on the wheel
I’m just tired.
I grip the plastic handles
Carts and strollers, both feel the same
How can they feel the same?
Mommy, the little thing says
Where am I? What is this world?
The child looks up, confused at my confusion
Carts and strollers are not the same
I look up
Together, we search the sky.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
