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Click hereIn The Delta
The pale dusty gloom of
a sharecroppers shack.
Hot noon sweat shining
rings on clothes that hung on
meatless bones.
The only color the red newborn face;
fists raised in a circle
demanding the life that is due her.
Her mothers arms surrounding
and giving all she has.
His arms surround the mother
pulling her back into him
Holding her soothing her,
his body moving as if pulled by the tides
urging and reminding her;
while one life slips away
Another fights to be born.
rich, poor, share cropper equally. TK U MLJ LV NV
You have a warmth on your poems that I very much admire. This is no exception.
The heat is part of a proud yet sad reality. Good one
Im wondering if thats the word I mean...Boo,great job--expressing the conflicts, joy and pain of life and death... they are both beautiful in their own way :)