Mother's Love

• Harlee Braumandle, Grade 11
• Poetry
• 2022

Darkness wrapped tight,
I fear no shadow, it holds me.
The small space I reside,
echoing sounds, I'm choking.

The bright light hurts, those cruel faces.
The wood creaks and I can't breathe;
have I forsaken you? Is this my price?
Huddles close, in shadows embrace.

Frost creeps up my arms,
it feels nice to be cold.
No burning rage
or
bright pink claws
of horrors unspoken.