My Mother's Heart - Reggie Kyere

My father shot my mother!
In the heart.
Never woke from the trauma.
Her shroud seamed by betrayal.

My mother's heart, all the thread
on Athene's spindle could not
make up the stitches she had on.

Like a cub, roaring up,
out of the colony
dreams will soon be king of the jungle.
Carefree, she loved freely.

In my mother's bosom, there,
her remains sit.
Dry, barren, cannot love,
never will.

What good is the heart
if it cannot love?
Bleed pain, I guess.

Some women love once,
they confess.