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Rated: E · Poetry · Other · #1597909
It begins and ends with me in a hospital. For my daughter
"You don't understand, she's my daughter"
My mama stood like a stone pillar
to the emergency room police
They beg me press charges, I won't

How could he do this to her daughter?
Two weeks later, second morning I puke
Bad hearts and babies won't do
Only one of us will live, not two

Too many doctors, too many rooms, too many miles
To too many pokes, too much, too much
The doctors tell me my baby won't make it
"You don't understand, she's my daughter"

"Ma'am, it's open-heart surgery"
"You don't understand, she's my daughter"

"The surgery will be too risky"
"You don't understand, she's my daughter"

I was dressed in white on a rolling alter
I kissed my son, but I won't tell him good-bye
Cecil picked the tears from my cheek
So that he could use them later

My warrior Mouse, who the Saints
Chose to adore that day-
I keep, I won't give her up
"You don't understand, she's MY daughter"

And when I won
When I was right
When the doctors tell me how beautiful she is
I say, "Of course she is. She's my daughter"
© Copyright 2009 Kayla Sullivan (quela at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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