Mother In Fourteen Lines

Your life was written before you lived it.

No escape from toil, they knew no better.

Like it was not their fault.

But it was.

Too young to know your mother’s face

before she was wrenched away

with your unborn sister.

But there it was.

No father to care for you, except with money.

Just aunties, the way it was back then.

Did Charlie weep for her?

Did you become a rebel from them?

A woman child, with a man always scheming for the greener grass,

that was never greener. And then you were gone too.

I wish we had known each other better

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