Abigail

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Cradle rocks and baby calls
Our ancestor’s pictures hang on the wall.
 
Hardwood floors are warm to the touch
Breezes tiptoe through cracked windows.
 
A blaze of trees and dead brown leaves
Peach trees grow in season.
 
Daffodil filled fields
Sparrows gliding catching the current
 
~and whispering because baby fell.
 
The cradle stops after years of rocking
The dusty picture hangs crooked.
 
Hardwood floors are cold to the touch
The shine replaced with time.
 
~The ancestor’s come to life and weep because baby fell
A breeze sneaks through the termite infested wall.
 
~Head in my hands I cry out your name
Now they say I’m insane.

 

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