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Childhood, Fragments
My first memory
was my dog dragging a dead rat into my bedroom.
Mom walked in
I played with my limp toy.
Its polished eye watched,
she scolded the pup.
Showered, I sat on dusty carpet and listened;
the owl clock above the sink.
Her cracked hands washed green dishes
while the metal walls of our trailer
trickled into my veins drop after
drop,
after drop.
Responses
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Your poem is very down to earth and real for so many in todays society and living in poverty. Keep up the great writing.
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I am humbled and flattered.
Thank you for your kind and encouraging words.
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