my mother knew
before she knew.
someone came in and told her,
and it made the news.
and we never thought
that this time it'd be us.
because you never think about
the people on that screen.
just watch the tragedy
unfold like a play.
that is until you see her
and she is only identified as 'teenager'
it hurts. more than you remember.
but no one else knows
except you.
YOU ARE READING
a last note from your narrator
Poetrypeople write because no one listens - h.h. a collection of short stories written in various points in my life. mostly bad points. fair warning. title from the book thief by markus zusak i...
