A mother-son poem

by nouriguess   Apr 15, 2020


When things start falling,

the ceiling crumbling
above our dreams,
the windows shattering
into knives,
the air smelling of cement
and dust and fear,

I will,
and I promise you,
I will hug your little body
with my arms tight,
protect your tiny paws
within my palms,
smell your fur for the last time
and choose your safety
over mine.

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