Hollow mother

-To smother seeds that were gracefully shooting. And roots that only searched for the ground.

I dream of the cry
that was ment to follow
your, first breath.
New life cradeld in burly hands.

To smell fresh skin.
Alive, untouched
talcum powder- white
delicately reaching, to become, and grow.

To stroke pure cheeks
and watch young eyes first open
-seeing
-and breathing
- and living.
with hands so small they're surreal.

----------

But ,awaken
cold and still.
Green, red, rot
then black.

Silent blood and bitten- bruises
an empty womb
- love tomb
impacted by fists.

A hollow mother
and you, A THIEF.
That spilt life
onto the tiles
of a dead bathroom floor.
end.

Copyright ©2009 Molly Smith