I was in the second grade –
my Mama cried on
I rocked a baby on my lap –
So difficult to hear your Mama cry –
I hugged the doll tucked beneath
our Christmas Tree –
it should have been my Mama.
What seems a hundred years
flew by – since I saw my Mama cry –
on Christmas day –
when her Mama died.
Too young too understand –
I found comfort as I hugged my doll,
still I see my Mama’s tears.
In some old cardboard box she sleeps
in our attic – a doll who shed a million tears –
and Mama, she’s left this earth.
One day I held my children to my breast,
stood tall, stood straight – on the day
we placed Mama down to rest –
some how I survived –
I never let my children see me cry.
(c)2012 all rights reserved – Nancy Duci Denofio