Eve, in memoriam
I think you would've liked to hide under the bed in placeswhere no one could catch you even if they found you there.
Your dark eyes wouldn't give you away
like my tears.
I like to think I'd be a heroine
if only I could stop the pain.
No, little one, you are not my flesh.
My blood does not run
in your drugged, dying veins.
My breath does not bellow
in and out of your struggling lungs.
But my heart stutters with yours.
You are not mine.
Your pain is someone else's math,
someone else's case.
But you are still there in the back of my mind,
always. And when Christmas rolls around next year,
I'll remember the child
on an egg-shell crate
who was never hugged for fear
of breaking some more.
Poetry by Arti
Read 1326 times
Editors' choice
Written on 2010-01-05 at 10:43
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