An Outcast’s Tears
Her children play knee-deep
in a stream’s spitting dares
to skip stones, their lives
measured in laughter and abandon;
stones that don’t skip,
and one that finally does.
Their mother stands alone,
her burnt gold burka, beaded
with pearls that glisten in the
midday sun like tiny roses
dipped in dew. I join her in
silence, not certain what to say.
My daughter cries every day, she
whispers; her friends want her
to go back where she belongs.
I felt incredibly white just then.
A little girl knows is what she is told.
She doesn’t know her home is here.
Shelly Blankman and her husband, Jon, are empty-nesters who
live in Columbia, Maryland with their 4 cat rescues. They have two sons
Richard, 31, of New York, and Joshua, 30, of San Antonio. Shelly's first love
has always been poetry. Her poetry has been published by Ekphrastic: writing and art on art and writing as well as Visual Verse, Silver Birch Press, and Verse-Virtual.
Shelly,
ReplyDeleteThis is lovely. Welcome to Whispers if you are new, a warm welcome from me even if you are not.
~Davidf
A well crafted piece, touching sensitivly on the issues of belonging. Thank you for sharing your talent with us. Ralph
ReplyDeleteDear Shelly,
ReplyDeleteThis poem is so heart-felt. I especially like, "tiny roses/dipped in dew." Please keep these sensitive, socially conscience poems coming to Whispers.
Michael
Powerful. Thank you for sharing, Shelly. Continued blessings!
ReplyDelete-MJ (www.tgbtgpublictions.com)