Cries From the Cradle

  I must have done something very bad
Just after I was born,
For why else would my mommy's love
Turn cold when it should be warm?

She took me home and kept me
So you'd think that I was fine,
But I must have done something very bad
To make mommy turn unkind.

She spanked me when I cried for milk,
And I think it made her sore,
But I must have done something very bad
To make her throw me on the floor.

She threw me on the bed one time,
And I bounced against the wall,
So I must have done something very bad,
But just what I can't recall.

I tell her that I love her and
She says she loves me too,
But for all the whippin's that I get
I wonder if that's true.

She picked me up and punched me
Just because I wet the bed,
But I must have done something very bad
To make mommy make me....dead.


Comments:
 
searcher   searcher wrote
on 5/3/2008 1:56:33 AM
I hope I didn't startle anyone with this poem. I started it many years ago, not long after my wife had to take a six month old baby to the hospital with a broken arm. The mother had dropped off the baby and an older sister at my wife's day care center and went on to work. Minutes later she called to ask if my wife would check the baby's arm, as she had cried when she had dressed her that morning, moving her arm. The x-rays showed not only the freshly broken arm, but healing breaks in both arms, both legs, and at least one skull fracture. They said she had been dropped at least eight times. This baby lived--many don't. Thus the poem--a stark realization of what goes on everyday, and the questions that must be going on in an abused childs mind.

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