She
She opens her eyes, bright and pure,
The mother cannot help, but be caught in their lure,
Gurgling and cooing sounds brimming with innocence,
The entire weight of the world cannot dim the joy brought by an infants’ countenance
She plays with the other children, carefree and jubilant,
Heedless under the mothers’ watchful gaze, ever attentive and vigilant,
Pigtails bouncing, eyes overflowing with unbridled mirth,
What worries can plague her when the fire still crackles merrily in her hearth?
She seethes in silent rage, tempest and ever so sensitive,
Gentle hands tenderly stroke her tresses, doting and warm,
The façade cracks, eyes finally succumbing to tears that shake her form,
Thin yet unyielding, those shoulders have finally perceived the pressure of youth
She hunches over in woe, grief-stricken and dolorous,
Grasping onto stiff, cold hands, the world now feels ominous,
Eyes full of unconditional love, now blank and ever so lifeless,
Despairing and tormented, she feels as Atlas must when he bore the weight of the world
She muses as she knits, pensive and thoughtful,
In front of her, the young ones’ shriek, exuberant and cheerful,
The sun is setting a beatific smile graces her wizened features,
Her shoulders sag, surrendering to eternal rest as dusk finally settles over.
