The broken jug
 
She crept forward.
Advancing on mother.
The jug broken,
the floor sticky.
Grasping the hem of mothers nightgown.
Tears and lipstick smeared on familiar face.
Watching father drive over grit and bog.
Flock of birds follows.
Pretend it's alright.

By Anna Monis

© 2009 Anna Monis (All rights reserved)

 

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