Africa, children, Death, Grandmother, Love, poetry, Women

Purple (A Poem)

My mother lay upon an purple cloth

She was old and sick

The desert winds stole from her the water that sustained her life

She was dying

And yet she continued to sing

She song a story to my daughter

As she wept quietly in her arms

“Fear not little one

I love you little one

Tatah will keep you safe from the wind”

I took my daughter from my mothers’ skeletal arms

I kissed my mother goodbye

She sung her last note

I buried her that night in an purple cloth


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