November 3, 2014

 

 

To sit around a table

filled her with dread.

She had ancient demons

that hung around in her head.

 

As a child, she was offered the top

off her Mothers boiled egg:

Such poverty witnessed

when she had to beg.

 

And if lucky, the crust from

some newly baked bread,

with a smattering of dripping

before going to bed.

 

The dining table, a place

where bad memory’s lay,

that still lingered on,

until she passed away.

 

 

 

No Comments »

No comments yet.

RSS feed for comments on this post. TrackBack URL

Leave a comment

You must be logged in to post a comment.