Momma

The wind cut into his skin

grey skies pressed down

on the rotting town

but at least he was home

Death’s shadow hung heavy here

and the sad picture it painted

suited him just fine

it was better than he deserved

he listened to the storm heave and moan

as his head ached with her memory

“I’m home Momma,

I never should have left you

alone with that mean drunk.”

He laid across the dust covered bed

that still had her favorite quilt on it

He knew he should get washed up

so he didn’t stain it with blood

“I finally stood up to him Momma,

he won’t be hurtin’ nobody else.”

But it was too late, much too late for Momma

 

~Melanie Thomason

1/31/2020

 

 

FLF

11 Comments

Filed under Poetry

11 responses to “Momma

  1. Such a painful portray of emotions.

  2. It may be too late for Momma, but it is never to late to rid the world of such a painful adversary…. Excellent write.

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