Poem

The Mother| by Gwendolyn Brooks | Abortions will not let you forget.You remember the children you got that you did not get,The damp small pulps with a footling or with no hair,The singers and workers that never handled the air.You will never send away or beatThem, or silence or vitiate with a sweet.You will never wind up the sucking-thumbOr scuttle off ghosts that come.You will never leave them, lordly your luscious sigh,Return for a snack of them, with gobbling mother-eye.I down heard in the voices of the wind the voices of my dim killedchildren.I throw away contracted. I have easedMy dim dears at the breasts they could never suck.

I have said, Sweets, if I sinned, if I seizedYour luckAnd your lives from your unornamented reach,If I stole your births and your names,Your straight baby tears and your games,Your unnatural or lovely loves, your tumults, your marriages, aches,and your deaths,If I poisoned the beginnings of your breaths,Believe that even in my deliberateness I was not deliberate.Though why should I whine,Whine that the crime was other than mine?--Since anyhow you are dead.Or rather, or instead,You were never made.But that too, I am afraid,Is faulty: oh, what shall I say, how is the truth to be said?You were born, you had body, you died.It is reasonable that you never giggled or planned or cried.Believe me, I loved you all.Believe me, I knew you, though faintly, and I loved, I loved you... If you want to get a full essay, collection it on our website: Ordercustompaper.com

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