A daughter’s guilt
When I was young
You’d spin me round,
Making airplane sounds.
High and untouched,
I was.
And on days my mother’s
Dryness escaped me
You explained her
With direct kindness.
In the garden we shared
your lessons.
The joy of creation and cause,
Rusty iron posts and the smell
Of honey suckle.
Even on nights
As I helped you with your socks,
Sirens blaring,
Her blood still thick
On your knuckle bone,
You managed to make me feel
Like Mother Teresa
I wiped your tears,
Stilling quivering lips
With my own.
The mirage bled through the years,
Your image slowly crushed like
Grapes in our garden,
Bitter skins of guilt in my teeth.
In life I have bartered
For love,
Each turn took,
Like a child still,
With acceptance and hope
Lapping up the morsels
Of that same superiority,
The better person,
To spite myself.
I gave futilely,  
a second hand jigsaw puzzle,
I didn’t own all my pieces.
And now I remember,
That night
That hard truth
Beyond the bedroom door
Clutching my sister,
And Your explanations
Not so crystal.
Things a child does not see.

second version of this poem, please tell me what you think.

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Cory Garcia
almost 7 years

I love the biting ending of the first one... in both your voice flows smoothly... I love the story of the times spent with the father... then tragedy... now in this one as an adult the path of reconciling the inner child with the realized adult...Well written ;)

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Cory Garcia

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