Leading to My Mother.

This poem makes intelligent use of simple imagery and word choice. I can feel every bit of the speaker’s emotion.

Visit They Will Climb The Walls

They Will Climb The Walls

farm storm

Things would be quiet,
calming
if I didn’t hear the weeps
that seep under the barrier
of a bedroom door,
leading to my mother.

And I know,
at the time,
I would feel
the need to cry too.

I always said,
“I’m a parent to my parents,”
because I remember
being 4 years old
in my mothers bed
as she sobbed.

With a brush I ran
through her hair
in deep strokes, pressed
against scalp,
tightly scratching,
because it’s all I could do
to make her body
stop wracking
from the sobs.

I was so young, I didn’t know.
I thought she must be hurt.
She fell.
Hit her knee.
Knocked her head.
Cut her finger.
But there were no injuries
to kiss better.
So I brushed her hair.

I didn’t understand
as I do now with the pain
I feel the same
of my own mother well-done.
It is…

View original post 116 more words

Published by

Alexandra Stanislaw

Alexandra Stanislaw is the Editor-In-Chief and founder of Devise Literary. She is also an Assistant Editor for Hotel Amerika. Her work appears in Crab Fat Magazine ("The Good Friend" and "Tampa Raised You Up"), Ragazine, and Chicago Review of Books.

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