I wonder about the money, where it comes from, How and why, But it keeps my babies fed, so I don’t ask, don’t look, just take it with a sigh. I worry when he’s out at night, when I hear the sirens and voices on the street, I lay awake and listen for a car, a radio, a gun, the sound of his feet. He’s a good boy, I say to myself when I’m alone, and need to know that I’m not a fool, being used by my son. I can’t let him go. Don’t ask me to abandon him into the clammy hands of your society's need, Who will I rely on, when you’ve taken him away, and I have kids to feed? Minimum wage and a family of six hungry mouths, and you wonder why I don’t kick him out, how I can know what he is, and turn a blind eye But I wonder how you can turn me away at every opportunity force me down and out of sight to live in the darkness of poverty to raise my children in the fear and despair, without a dream, And then condemn me for surviving, anyway I can, no matter what that means... I know it isn't good to be so easily persuaded to take the gifts that he brings, But I've found in the last few years that a mother can overlook some things, and accept those that she can not change, and hope for a better way, for the rest of her kids as they grow, if they grow, beyond today...
Reason for writing:
I wrote this for a contest last year, one about life on the border (Texas/Mexico). I know people in this position, and a part of me can understand this woman, her need to keep her family together, to provide for her family, to love her son...
Birth sign: Not entered
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