Self-portrait at Seven

I’m afraid of the cold, the wild
and the grandmother who never smiles

Her shoes have holes on the side
where her feet poke out

Her neck falls down from her chin
to her chest and her eyes are sad

The new house feels empty; my toys are gone
daddy’s left, and mommy cries all night long

It’s three blocks to catch the bus
I run past houses and the Chow that bites

I transfer on the busy street downtown
another bus takes me to the Catholic school

I have no friends there like I had last year
They call me names and think I’m strange

Everyday when I get home, I sit on the steps
I read my books and sing some songs

Inside there’s only loneliness
I guess it’s because the baby died

© Gay Reiser Cannon * 12/9/2013
All Rights Reserved

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