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.