She must have been a user because
She didn’t work for food, nor the
Children’s clothes nor their birthday gifts.
She stayed at home, doing the mom thing.
She gave up her dreams—what a loser some thought.
She sold herself for the easy life others thought.
Cook a meal; clean the house, nothing else to do,
Maybe, laundry now and then.
Her daughter cried, “But why Mommy?”
She cured the hurt and gave hope,
Then cried alone when she could.
The dog had been her friend too.
“What’s the solution?” the child asked.
How do I answer? The years are long past she thought.
But, answer she did, and did it well,
Because her child needed help.
Loneliness filled many days.
The lack of adult conversation created a vacuum
That soaps and talk shows wanted to fill,
But she knew in her heart where she belonged.
The child grew, became a woman to admire.
“You’ve worked a miracle, my dear. I’m sorry I worked so much,” Dad said.
“You silly man, I love you more than you’ll ever know.
I got to be, just a mom.”
David P. Cantrell © 2015, all rights reserved. David P. Cantrell is a contributing member of the EWI staff.
Photo credit: Tiny Plain Photography