Tag Archives: pain

Day 12: Happy National Poetry Month

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Good morning! It’s 10:15 a.m. and I’ve just gotten settled at my desk with a cup of coffee and no idea what kind of poem to present you with. So I’ve decided to try the live poetry writing again. I kind of enjoyed that. Much more than I enjoy my live poetry readings, lol.

So I’m off to find another poetry prompt.

10:23. I found one. It’s not going to be an easy one to write. You can find it here. The prompt is: Write about neglect.

10:30. Sorry. Got distracted by my cat. I’m back.

Neglect (working title)

By Michelle Garren-Flye

How long since I looked at you?

You’re withered, turned brown,

no more blooms of blue,

lonely face droops down.

Mama shifts in her chair,

I know she’s in constant pain—

but the nurses did her hair.

(10:44. I have customers so going to have to take a break.)

(10:51. Where was I? Oh yeah.)

Mama shifts in her chair,

I know she’s in constant pain—

but the nurses did her hair.

And I’ve been away too long.

Walk away for a while,

forget to answer the phone

or water the plant

or leave someone alone.

(10:55. More customers. Might be interrupted again…)

Mama clings to my ginger hug,

her body so delicate, my own

health felt like a rude insult.

This old hospital is killing me.

(11:20. I was right. I was interrupted. Multiple times.)

When the mourning’s over, though,

drop the dead into the trash bin

even as tears track down, slow

when you remember the body so thin.

(11:32. First draft finished. Going to see if I can do a rewrite now.

(11:56. I finished it. And ouch. Read if you want.)

Neglect

By Michelle Garren-Flye

How long since I looked at you?

You’re withered, turned brown,

no more blooms of blue,

lonely face drops down.

Mama shifts in her chair,

I know she’s in constant pain—

but the nurse did her hair…

and I’ve been away too long.

Walk away, pretend it’s only a while,

forget to answer the phone

or water the plant

and leave someone alone too long.

Mama clings to my ginger hug,

her body so delicate, my own

health feels like a snub.

“This old hospital is killing me.”

When the mourning is over, though,

drop the dead into the trash bin,

even as tears track down slow

when you remember the body so thin.

Photo and poem copyright 2023 Michelle Garren-Flye

Poem(?): Dos Mundos…Two Worlds

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Dos Mundos…Two Worlds

By Michelle Garren Flye

 

Mama ties back my hair.

Tu eres muy linda, Mija, she says.

You are very pretty, my daughter.

I hear it both ways, bilingual.

Best of both worlds, Abuela might say.

But we left Abuela in Mexico long ago.

 

Mama leaves me at the school gate.

She tugs my ponytail, smiling.

No tengas miedo, she says.

Do not be afraid…and I will try.

My mother speaks three languages.

Love is a language, too.

 

How do you say school in Spanish?

The girl asks me with a friendly smile.

Escuela, I tell the girl, not afraid.

Cool, she says. Want to play?

We play tag and I am happy.

Mama was right—there is nothing to fear.

 

I am brave all day. I am not afraid

I win the spelling bee, all in English.

My teachers are all American.

I can speak to them and I’m not afraid.

I want to tell Mama about my day.

I wait after school, but she doesn’t come.

 

My neighbor comes and kneels beside me.

She’s American, she has two teenage sons.

She doesn’t speak Spanish, but she speaks love.

Her voice breaks when she tells me they took Mama.

I know what she’s saying, even when I stop hearing.

I’m not me anymore. They took me, too.

 

She makes space for me in her home.

They are kind, but I know I have no place.

I used to have two worlds, now I have none.

No country, no place for me, no mama.

One of the lost generation without a home.

Y ahora, tengo miedo. And now I am afraid.