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I Still Sing Your Lullabies: A mother’s love & loss

Consider the Little Girls

Consider the little girls
taken from their mother.
Their comings and goings,
without their mother.
No mother to brush their hair.
No mother to trim their nails,
tuck in a shirt, pull them close,
offer a hug, a kiss, a murmur.

Consider the little girls
taken from their mother.
The world big, bleak, scary.
The oldest tries to buck up.
The others give up.
Who fixes them a sandwich?
A birthday cake?
Who sews on a snap, fixes a hem?
Hands them their doll?
Wipes their noses?
Tucks them in with a lullaby?

Consider the little girls
coming home to an empty house.
A key around their necks.
Nothing in the fridge.
The oldest daughter beside herself
with responsibility.
The youngest daughters
hungry for so much.
All these needs unmet,
hungers unfilled.

Consider the little girls
who get up in the morning.
Fix their own breakfast.
Get dressed without remark.
No mother to fluff a blouse.
Arrange a loose strand of hair.
Pull a loose thread off a skirt.
Who put themselves to bed
without a caress.

Consider the little girls
who no longer feel part of a family
that does chores together.
Cleans house together.
Shops at the market together.
Bakes brownies, dances, watches movies.
Does homework at the kitchen table.
Sits around the piano and sings.

Consider the little girls on their own.
Cast adrift, without their mother.

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I Still Sing Your Lullabies

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