She covered herself against the slough of her mother’s promises, all in the negative.
Home, never was.
Oh, oh. His muddy lies tilling a trench on the uphill. Then, “Never will hold that baby.”
Storm got thicker. Never did.
Poverty and hopelessness were taking turns at any gutter’s corner with fresh cardboard and permanent black ink. Room? Never.
“A hole was a hole was hole was a ho’.” They shared their laughter and kept their wallets closed. Whole? Never.
Her mother’s words were all she bore. What never was no more.
“Storming and the night’s going to be cold.”
“Supposed to be freezing rain by the time we get ho—there, there. A parking spot up—homeless, what they’re like walking dead. Tell her to get out the way.”
Not going to be dry today. River’s side won’t let her wash today.
‘Another waste shifting borders.’ Til she stepped into release.
Never felt before she hit the water. Never felt no more.
Not even at the wide open river into an emptying sea.