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.