Dear Dead Mother,
Oh, how I miss you today,
As I sit by our pond.
The place we loved oh, so much,
With its bull frogs and lily-pads.
I remember you wading with me,
Laughing, at my childish adoration.
Smiling, teaching me your ways.
“Remember, darling, release the frog.
Don’t hurt its beautiful skin.”
It wasn’t your fault
That you left me.
But yet, I anger.
You left me with him.
How I begged you to leave him,
Your husband,
The man who swore to love you.
He brought the bottle down,
Onto the soft crown of your hair.
He, who laughed mercilessly as the glass entwined
Into your tender skin of your hair,
Blood pouring down your kind face.
I miss you, Mother.
I hate you for leaving,
But I blame him for forcing your hand.
When the police came,
They saw us, bloody,
And him unconscious.
Me, sobbing,
Kissing your tender cheeks.
When he awoke,
I tried to kill him.
Finger nails scratching down his cheeks,
Screaming profanities.
I would have, however, I was stopped.
But now he is going away.
That doesn’t repair that fact
That you are gone.
Soon, though, at your funeral
As I lay your shroud, sobbing,
I will have forgive you,
Out of love alone.
Because I now know,
Being the one left behind is hard,
But staying for love alone,
Is even harder.

Love,
Your Daughter