Poetry

Poisoned Soil

“There were lots of things I didn’t
understand through my childhood eyes.
Despite everything, my mother still tried.”

There were lots of things I didn’t understand through my childhood eyes. I didn’t see the seeds of stress my mother carried on her shoulders. I didn’t see the way she struggled to make ends meet on a single parent salary. I failed to see how much energy was spent trying to make sure I had a normal childhood, despite not knowing that my innocence was long since lost. Like wilted petals falling from the husks of dead flowers floating away on the breeze. Despite everything, she still tried.

And now, she knows the truth. How she failed to do the one thing any normal parent would do — protect her child from harm. How she failed to notice all the signs. Even after everything she sacrificed, she still feels the guilt of not saving me. How heartbreaking it must be, to find out all that effort was too little, too late. I can see through the mirage at the destruction that was caused at my expense.

In the desolation of that poisoned soil, I understand what was missed. And in search of my mother’s garden, I’ve learned that sometimes, we can’t protect those we hold most dear. We do the best we can.

© Sarah Doughty

Sometimes, it’s just not enough.
The point is that
we try our best.

Prompt: In Search Of Our Mother’s Gardens
hosted by the amazing Christine
at Brave And Reckless.

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3 thoughts on “Poisoned Soil”

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