About the Poem
Although this poem is about what losing my little girl did to me, it could well speak for any parent. Through talking to others, I have discovered that my feelings are quite universal. But few people write about it. Why? Writing can be very healing.
|by Rosemary J. Gwaltney|
|And when the great dark hand stretched out its claws
Devouring her girl-child, six years old - yet
Wet-winged and tender, dew-damp and dear;
A rupture of her deepest Spirit's core
Triggered molten lava rivers -
Thickly churning down the steep
Imperial mountains of her years of devotion.
Burning ravaging scars across wide
Wilderness valleys of hideous new emptiness.
Cooling and hardening, imprisoning her
Solidly beneath the crust.
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