I didn’t know about the wasps
before I had carried my toddler
across the darkened room
laid her in a bed, crawling
Clutched her sleeping body
close to my chest, turned
to retreat, but the swarm
gathered there at the door
My cousin punched a hole
in a wall, unable to discern
the exit in a smoke-filled room.
The hole remains; she doesn’t
Strangers came to her funeral
drawn by the mystery of the girl
(name unknown) who died
such a tragic death, just 18.
How did this invasion happen
how was I remiss in noticing
that this house of potential
was being consumed by threat?
Unlike my ill-fated kin,
I knew where the door was
braved it to save my child
ignored the prophetic warning
Look back at the ruins now –
hers and mine – the patterns
of abandonment, familial
neglect, disinterest a plague
How we women try to please
carry our children through
the flames, choking on
disappointment… hope
A man lit the flame that killed her,
just as a man suffocated my spirit
threads of sanity carrying me
till my mind escaped the wasps
(Ink and watercolour mine)
Love the creativity of this one ❤
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Thanks K. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to pull it together – weaving the two lives.
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You did well 🙌🏽
I read it like 3 xs
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This is a powerful poem, written beautifully. I am captured by your art as well.
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Thank you!
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powerfully written and visceral VJ. great poem💕
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Thanks Cindy!
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💞
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So strong, powerful, tragic, sad, yet, alive and hopeful in courage. Wow!
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Thank you so much!
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Very touching writing!
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Thank you
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Thanks for sharing your writing . But these wasps are stingy. Anita
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Yes, they are! Thanks
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Wonderfully written! But always expect that from you.
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Thanks Benjamin
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Very powerful writing VJ !!!
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Thanks Anne
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This narrative is sad, yet like Liz says full of strength.
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Thanks Heather.
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You’re welcome.
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It takes a lot of strength to escape those wasps.
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It does.
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💖
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😊
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