Sounds of the heart. Whispers of the soul.

What will they write on my tombstone?

As i nestle in the bosom of my mother, warm and safe, I pause to look around.
You, my father, i see toiling in the sweat and dirt, digging, my grave.

I look at you, my mother;
I see no love, no pain, no strain.
I look at you, my father;
I see no regret. Only disappointment.

You stop. I see.
My new bed is nice and deep.

My father, you turn to look at my mother;
Your eyes talk.
My mother, you feed me again; Your lips move to hum a tune;
It’s the lullaby you sang every night the last 30 nights.

I understand. This is my last meal.
I smile at you my father, I smile at you my mother,
as you lay me in my new bed.

What will they write on my tombstone?
Here lies my girl, who died before she learned to smile?
Here lies my girl, who was killed – a girl is not such a good deal?

Will I ever receive a bunch of lilies?
or even a single red rose?
Will the grass around me be green?
Or will i be surrounded with withered weeds?

I look around my new bed.
The earth is all dry and cracked – cracked like grandma’s tired feet.
Will you, my mother, my father, cry a little tear?
Wet the earth a little so a flower may appear?

I close my eyes, and keep the smile.
This new blanket, the color of my eyes, will keep me warm for life.
I will now sleep in the caress of a new mother;
and the company of a million new sisters.

Advertisements

One response

  1. Pingback: Flowers In The Dirt « Little Red Shoes

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s