She murdered her memories.
Her heart skipped a beat or two.
She had never been allowed to be tired.
She had to keep going, progress whilst her
Mother held her head down. Her father
Tried to get rid of her, quicksand souls.
The windows would be slammed shut.
And she would pull herself together
Because she wanted to live and not freeze to death,
Be stifled by silence that washes its hands clean.
The mother massacring the language, disgracing the tongue.
The father spitting on her hopes for eventual love.
“Idle moments” by Leo Gestel (1881-1941)
