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by Jacqueline Ives (Age: 79)
copyright 01-06-2012

Age Rating: 13 +



My mother was small and dark,

shy and eager,

like a little bird.

She had tea-brown eyes.



Sitting on the lowest stair

at the age of five, I’m thinking:

“Some day I’ve got to die,”

sitting on the lowest stair,


the front door open

to the red brick step beyond.

Within, my mother’s singing

(out of tune like mine)


shines like the sunbeams streaming

on the red brick step. I’m thinking:

“Some day I’ve got to die”

- but she went first, as mothers do.





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        02-15-2012     Frank Fields        

This work is strangely beguiling. Sad, yes, of course. But more, all the seemingly disjointed images do come together as a whole, leaving a sense of unfair loss. The age could easily be lowered quite a bit. The over-emphasis of the title in bold capitals was almost enough to make me want to not read this. The repetition of the title, also, is unnecessary. The style and manner of presentation, the usage of the language, however, make this a good work.

Thank you for sharing. ^^

Frank :)

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