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Marsha Singh
Poems
Jan 2011
Eggshells
I caught my mother crying once,
at the kitchen table, face in one hand
dishtowel in the other,
real
crying,
out loud
crying;
I wanted to be anywhere else,
and would have run
had she not heard me,
had she not pressed the dishtowel to her eyes
and said
“I'm just so
tired
of walking on eggshells.”
like an eight year old would understand,
but I did,
kind of.
Written by
Marsha Singh
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