Poem #21

The prompt is mallet.  Mallet?  Really… A very unpoetic word, but here goes.  A poem today about a particularly difficult phone call I received over 20 years ago.  20 years, but I can still feel that moment like it was yesterday.


The news
Hits me hard,
Like a mallet.
My sister's voice
Whispers, repeats.
I am on my knees,
The phone on the floor.
The room becomes
I cannot think,
Peppered with questions,

Who should we call
What is the number
When can you leave.

I cannot answer,


4 thoughts on “Poem #21

    1. Gosh, I don’t mind saying…. In 1997 my mother was hit by a car when she was in a crosswalk. Brain injury and she died the next day. Just a weird, weird accident. The car was going slow, distracted driver. 18 years old. I have actually gotten to the point where I feel sorry for the driver, having to carry that with them.


      1. Crushing! Thank you for sharing. I cannot begin to imagine how difficult that period must have been for the family. It is really big of you to feel sorry for the driver after all you went through.👍

        Liked by 1 person

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