The F Word
My supposed fragility
was stamped on me when
I was pushed from my mother.
Did I look fragile?
Wailing with virgin lungs,
bloody without being cut?
Did my flailing body
and strong grip
interfere with your vision of how
easily breakable I was to be?
But then I was
washed and soothed,
and I slept,
as fragile as
the pink paper F
pinned to my crib.
4 thoughts on "The F Word"
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This is unique and the two last lines seal this deal.
Thank you so much.
The title, of course, lures us in. The poem is not fragile at all, but powerful and bright!
Wow, thanks so much for that thoughtful response. I appreciate you.