Truth runs thin in homes
diluted by pills and alcohol.
There’s no hook to hang your hat upon,
no rock on which to stand.
Mothers park along the driveway
at school’s end. Our Buick sits
cock-eyed across the curb.
I long to be like other kids, but
know I’m not. Vodka bottles line
the linen closet - a fully-feathered
duck rests in the freezer.
I show it to my friend.
The puppy ate mom’s sleeping pills
and will not wake again.
School is worse - so many faces
whose chatter makes no sense
to me. I am not them. Sunday’s
comics fill me with dread.
There’s no vacation from
fear, only blank days that
stretch ahead.
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Published by
Cynthia M. Sheward
Cynthia Sheward has written poetry since she was a child. She was born in Massachusetts but spent her young life in New Jersey. She applied her English degree from Arcadia University teaching junior-senior high school in Vermont the 70’s. In the 80s, she and her husband built their own house with their own hands in the mountains of North Carolina. In the 90s, she returned to NJ where she worked for a Fortune 500 corporation until her retirement.
Her work has been published in Friends Journal, Evening Street, the Bennington Banner, Fiber Arts Magazine, the Mountain Times and various other print media.
She currently resides in Jupiter, Florida.
View all posts by Cynthia M. Sheward
I love this. Thank you 😊!
Sent from my iPhone Michael Cover 202-277-5692
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So good Cindy. I really relate. The poem really moved me. You are such a wonderful poet and person.
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Childhood was a scary place in the best of times (or what I thought was the best of times). This piece breaks my heart.
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Thank you. I agree. My childhood was not all difficult. It had wonderful times and not wonderful times. Each summer at the shore, I would shake my depression with sun, sand and the ocean.
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Thank you for taking the time to read my poem. it means a lot to me.
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