MOTHER
Rusted swings
Creak
Loneliness
Their seats
Too small
For my grown kids
My ears
Seek
Their laugh
As I propel them
With my wrinkled hands
To achieve greater heights
My ears
Seek
Their cry
When they fall
From those heights
But all I smell now
Is rust
Very soon
This too
Will only be a memory
Just like my kids
Michelle is 22 yrs old.
She never imagined she would be writing so much someday.
Follow her fiction/poetry here
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