Beetlebung and Kettlehole--April Poems

Losing

”Don’t you want to see your daughter?
Wait, I’ll get her.”
”I don’t need to. Just give me my things.”

But there I was, so tiny,
when Papa didn’t see me
hiding behind the large colorful ruffles
of Altagracia’s dirndl skirt.

The cruelest month when all of us lost,
its name I can’t recall.
It was in summer sometime.

.
Prompt: the cruelest month