Young Mother

A Poem by Melody

New write. Please read.

I see her baby kicking,
and she makes me want to cry.
Her teeth so yellow, but her smile so bright,
and her stomach so swollen.

Her stomach adorns my hand--
There is a slight quake beneath the surface--
reminding me of a bumpy road on a bright yellow school bus.

I question the young mother's decision--
if it was a decision at all--
or if it was a consequence or result or bad memory.

"Maybe I'll learn to be a victim of this complex 'system' of thoughts,
babies guarding instead of being the guarded," she says.
Was there a choice at all?

I wonder if this homeless baby will be fatherless--
in a mother-full life.
What will this baby think of its mother?
Its forever youthful, street living mother...