The Mother

she drinks her wine like a cannibal,
her lips stained like a crimson rose

she sits on an old rocking chair,
it cheating her of her youth

she has a blade in her hand,
gripping tightly like a vice

her husband sits right across her,
looking but not seeing

he looks tired, and she knows
but she needs some security

he sighs, she sighs
she downs the wine glass,

s m a s h i n g it to the ground
the only sound in the room

the silence is broken, and
reality sets in, in the form of cold sweat

a baby's cries could be heard next door
a young thing vulnerable and needy

she drops the blade and runs to the next room
because there is a duty for her to fulfil

she carries the baby and its crying ceases
but the tears flow from within her

trapped in responsibility, desperate for hope
she takes one step at a time.

Reviews

[Legion]

That opening line is a killer. Gets your attention and you just have to read on. Great write. Lot of desperation within this. Is fulfil spelled that way or is it fulfill? Don't have my dictionary with me. Anyway, excellent work.

[dining alone]

The beauty of purpose is what I got out of it. Good job.

[Jason]

Very interesting look at a mother that carries quite a burden with an absent father (figuratively?) very powerful write!
~j