watching the fallen
micropoetry
nine-year-old girls aren’t
supposed to walk
in on their mother
losing her mind
they aren’t raised to
bear witness to the fallen
but she watched
and she knew her
mother would never
be the same
this became her gift
learning what to avoid
an adult before
her time
Author’s Note: This was written as a response to a Twitter prompt. The word: “nine.” I had a flashback of what it felt like, what it looked like to witness my mother’s heartache upon finding out her oldest sister overdosed from crack-cocaine. I was nine years old. That’s when I started writing. My cousins have had to grow up without their mother — flitting from foster home to foster home, then finally landing with family who could take them in. They haven’t and will never be the same. This mother’s day, if you still have yours, and when you can, hold on to her a little longer.
©2020 Tremaine L. Loadholt
