Broken, Pregnant, and Poor
with no more life to give.
There's no more dirt to go around.
He'd turn to turpentine.
But, where is the justice?
No happy feet, no pitter-patter
The gauntlets of the past;
the pink booties with white trim,
the white t-shirt with baby blue rhinestones,
the overworn training bra,
all to stay untouched.
Must we give this up, too?
We've given up so much now.
"Mommy, will God save us?
Will she go to heaven?"
All unanswered.
But despite the pleas, the dresser of life,
of death and sadness in her room
The patriarch remains. But her story?
"He copped out. Left a long time ago"