A Mother’s Monologue While Heartache Eats Her Daughter

Oh my child. What will I do with you now?

Of all the things flowing

in

my

blood,

picked

you ^ this heart.

This heart that sometimes caves; an abandoned grave

After days
of having thoughtless flowers laid over it.

Words spoken over it —but never asked how it is doing.

This heart collapses; embraces the soil that buries it like a lover.

Even when the lover is a heavy thing that hurts

This heart gets hurt and dresses the wound with a smile.

When disaster strikes this heart wears a Red Cross

uniform and askswho else needs a life jacket.

This heart forgets it is not a life jacket it still spreads thin around lovers

who only know how to hold it to survive never to love.

My child

there are a lot of things this heart can do

but pulling…