Then and ThenA Poem by My Name is Brenda and I'm a Writer
Where were you the first time you looked at me
and saw yourself in my face?
You told me you were living your life over through me.
You told me I would be the death of you
I stand beside your bed waiting, waiting
for you to draw your last breath
Knowing I have come home too late. I am dead to you already.
We share consecrated Sundays
fishing in our secret spot near Toppins pier
No one found us there. No one looked.
I baited hooks. You smoked.
I force myself to bring my face to your mouth and inhale your breath
I watch you sleep. Your bloated flesh is the color of creek scum
Finally I speak the unsaid words.
I’m home, Mama. I’m sorry.
I wanted more from life than croakers and soft shelled crabs
I wasn’t your shadow or your savior
Mama, I ran away from you long before I left
What more can I say about Frankie Mae Foreman?
Was I the death of her?
She crawled into that bottle when I ran away and there she stayed
until her dying day
© 2008 My Name is Brenda and I'm a WriterReviews
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Added on July 3, 2008AuthorMy Name is Brenda and I'm a WriterFalls Church, VAAboutMy first novel was inspired by my own childhood on Pungo Creek in rural North Carolina where I grew up in a house shared by three generations. It seems it took a lifetime to write but it was actually.. more..Writing
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