of a Motherless Child
thirteen of Mommy being gone. Daddy gave me a book, “Grieving The Death of A
Mother” by Harold Ivan Smith. I can’t read it. I tried to. I am sure Mr. Smith
did his best to write the book and meant well but I opened it and read the
first line of the introduction.
I feel like motherless child…A long way from home”- African American Proverb
was all I could read before I cried again. I shut myself in the basement
bathroom near Mommy’s study and cried so Daddy wouldn’t hear me. I will always
feel motherless. I will always be a motherless child. The only thing is that
unlike the African Americans in Mr. Smith’s story I am always home. Since
Mommy’s funeral I have not left the house. Daddy said I am to sit out the rest
of the school term.
disagreed with him and they argued. Mamma thinks I should return to my regular
schedule as soon as possible. Mamma said I will be depressed or worse get
wutliss and lazy.
to go to school I miss Tess and Roxanne. I miss school. I even miss Mrs Tomlinson’s
slow drawl the way she stretches every word making them sentences in
school I sit here watching the purple and green vase with the dying flowers
until my eyes turn inwards.
Copyright © 2015, Chantel DaCosta