May 2, 2010
By , Chavies, KY
Her eyes are red, her glasses fogged,
She stands behind the counter.
A tissue clenched in her right hand,
Her fears and worries surround her.
Years of hurt and sorrow,
Are scribbled on her face.
The lines that usually form a smile,
Turn down in disgust and disgrace.
She lowers her eyes,
A tear hits the floor,
Her own personal way of grieving.
I ask, “Mom, what’s wrong?”
And she says, “Baby, we’re leaving.”

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