Oh! Daughters, My Daughters
Oh! Daughters, my daughters,
See that old woman.
She moves through her life
Without any focus,
A shadow in clothes
No mind in her eye.
The fat silly dog
In her arms is her baby.
She buys for it steak
And feeds it by hand.
This isn’t the transience
Of illness or grief.
Defined by her family
She knows no self.
Oh, daughters, my daughters,
See that old woman!
Form your lives
From the inside out!
Cynthia Buell Thomas
Hi Cynthia. I see in the evocation of social isolation in this, and a comcomitant poetic compassion. It needed saying, of course, though maybe I've misinterpreted the poem (wouldn't be the first time!).
Hi Cynthia
You've hit a rich vein. I love this. I can imagine older teenagers being very struck by it and having their eyes opened a little to what is going on around them.
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Steve Smith
Fri 17th Jul 2009 10:12
Thank you Cynthia for your comment on my poem. How do you mean presentation disciplined?
Anyway, I like this poem , it touches that nerve we have when we have children and then see those who have had no other reason to be but parents..where does love go? Carried away by the loved and the residue condensed into a cat or a dog?
Steve Smith.