Dawn slipped through the dusty blinds
of the chipping white condo
in the middle of the city
Soft, pale light
like the sallowness of her late son's cheeks
stuck in broken bars
to the far wall of the living room
The tiny yellow canary
in its iron prison
did not sing
A newspaper
with boldened headlines
lay open on the kitchen table
unread
The neighbours ignored the fake white lily
laying quitely on the cement,
cracked with cold,
the blue recycling bin
that had never been taken from the curb
the letter in the mailbox
that had never been read
The murmur of the news
floating from the television
that was always buzzing
filled her head with the static of
Nothingness
And her head, it seemed
was at the bottom of
Everything.
Slowly, the electric blue light
was lifted with white fingers
from the grey sky, through the blinds
She sighed heavily.
She hated watching television in the dark.
I had to write this poem for history class about war. Most wrote about the battle field but I had never BEEN on a battle field so I couldn't do that. This is about a mother who lost her son who had been a soldier.
