The burning at the bottom of my throat
are the roots from the tree reaching to my skull
that told me all of that happened years ago,
"But this is where the dirt was," thoughtful little girl
watching pieces of hair and specks of black dirt float
in her bath water, she had seen me take the rug out
which had been thrown in carelessly,
but I didn't wash the specks down the drain
and now her little fingers were fishing them out
her lips punching forward, not criticizing
determined to clean her own bath water
"I just need to clean the specks out" she mumbled
The burning in my throat comes from my stomach;
If you are not kind, what kind of human are you?
To force a child to bathe in dirty water,
and if you are not kind, how will you stand on your feet
as your world comes crashing inward?
No comments:
Post a Comment