Mommy, When

Mommy, when

Will it end? When

Will you dance again?

You got hit – a stroke of

Brut force, taken hostage.

I bargained with Him

But you’re still boxed in.

I won’t cry Why –

Whys are flies – swat ‘em.

I cry When,

When Mommy, when

Will it end? When

Will you talk again?

I bloomed then,

Blossomed soft petal curves

Like yours.  You called me Flower.

Now, dry, crumbling

Seeking the stem to

Hold me up, finding it limp,

Rotting and sad.

Down here, I stand

And plead with Him

And ask Him instead.

I ask, when, when

Will it end? When

Will it be as it was

Back then…

Copyright 2011 Liya Khenkin