Friday, May 12, 2017



         Mother’s Day

The prophet you offered me
warned that silence
like a cancer grows.
The only thing
worse than silence
is their Truth.
One of your brothers
questioned your worthiness.
Another reminded me (a child)
that I wouldn't see Heaven.
Is it any wonder she self-destructed?
Is it any wonder she disappeared?
Even you, the strongest of us,
broke, one piece at a time, but
only after we moved back
to our dearest
and darkest demons.
I, the last one standing,
long to live somewhere
not here.

–Cynthia Sillitoe
May 2017

2 comments:

  1. I really like this. You sound more like her in this poem. After reading this, I read the one you wrote last mothers day, and the two of them together capture your relationship with your mother.

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  2. Thanks. I'm actually putting together a presentation of her poetry for this summer.

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