Mary Gold

They wanted to name her after a flower, they said

Round, ripe, full of juice with her cheeks

Curved, fuzzy, with a touch of red in her hair

 

She grew up as a sapling, branch thin

Her tresses were fire-engine red and curly

Freckles were landmarks to her heritage

 

Her parents protested at first, she’s not ours

Something wrong must have happened here

But then they reclaimed her as their own

 

She wished she hadn’t been, she thought

As she sat primly in the witness box

Torched with words by the defense attorney

 

Home has been torn from her heart

And no matter what the crime was

She’ll miss her mommy and daddy

 

But she just wanted them to stop

Stop

Stop….

 

 

© 2018 Valerie Hathaway

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