"Can't you just ..."
my mom used to say,
"... let it roll off you like water off a duck's back?"
She might understand different
now she's in that higher place.
I was practicing what she taught.
All her life she struggled
for human rights.
Struggled against oppression.
Now I struggle ...
to find words for a feeling
that's dogged me for half a century.
But it's more important than ever.
I hated the way people hurt her
and took advantage of her
compassion.
She made excuses for them.
She didn't tolerate injustice -
except from "loved ones".
I want a higher definition of love.
Love that begins the theme
of justice and respect.
This is my stand.
This is where I make my stand,
under the butterfly's wings.
Maybe I'll end up alone.
But people don't necessarily stay
with you because you let them
hurt you.
She
always had
me.
So do I.
YOU ARE READING
Syntax for Grief
Poetry{Poetry} We're keepers of each other's stories; you make me real.
