She asked me

She asked me 

If I came from a belly too

I said yes, “of course

All babies do”

“Whose belly did you come from, mommy?”

She wonders to me

“Well from my mommy, sweet girl.”

“Who is your mommy?”

“Hmm...well you’ve never met her.

We don’t see her much.

Your Grammy loves you, and that is enough.”

“Is Grammy your mommy?”

“No love. She’s not.

She took care of me though. 

And that means a lot.”

“Where is your mommy?”

She asked curiously

“She lives quite nearby

But we hardly ever see

Or hear from her.

We’re lucky to have 

Nana and Grammy, though,

Aren’t we?”

How else would you tell

A sweet innocent child

That parents can leave

If their pain is worse than mild

They can choose to leave 

And leave I will not

But to tell her means

She may fear that a lot

Or hurt for my hurt 

And I want her to heal for me

And all our ancestors grieving in me

Diversion works well 

And reminders of what’s good

Do I ever explain just how bad it could

Be to be left?

I had better not

So diversion works well

Thanks a lot thanks a lot