Lynda V. E. Crawford is a poet who has lived in the US longer than her childhood home Barbados. Both “homes” sway and punctuate her writing. She’s let go of journalism, copywriting, website management, and email marketing. Poetry won’t let go of her. Her work has appeared in Rue Scribe, The Halcyone Literary Review, The Galway Review, and Spectrum Blogspot, among other publications. Lynda now lives in Southern California.

Why didn’t you tell me…

before you walked down the aisle in your wedding gown, face pinched
before I blurted out he’s a narcissistic creep
before you smacked him in the head for neglecting the kids
before you scissor chopped your hair after you touched your breast
before I laughed, chided girl stop, thinking you were joking
before I had to ask your doctor what palliative care means
before you swallowed the drug that took you away
before I jumped into your grave and hollered, stalling the final hymn


I tap into my mother

and she into hers
and she into hers

and on

light repeated
audible blows

tremble, vibrate
umbilical cords

shed words