She wraps her child
in the old, soft mantle
though the child is
grown into a woman
she has raised
with gentle hands
and tender affection
her daughter shivers
as chill pierces through
holes in the aged fabric
a mother’s excuses
no longer explain
how they came to be
in the first place
through the tight weave
that could never rip.
© Neetu Malik
It must have been
a stormy night
when love flew out the window
of my vacant room
like a feather
from a molting bird.
she gathers dreams that were
shattered in the last storm
fragments burnt and charred
when lightning struck, turned
an armful of hopes to ash—
she laces them into a willow hoop
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More info →A Slice of Orange is an affiliate with some of the booksellers listed on this website, including Barnes & Nobel, Books A Million, iBooks, Kobo, and Smashwords. This means A Slice of Orange may earn a small advertising fee from sales made through the links used on this website. There are reminders of these affiliate links on the pages for individual books.
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