The Maggie

My mother was a Maggie.
In her eyes the little blue world ran wild.
Her blood, they say, was as mad as the sea
And in her heart was a longing only she could understand.

Strapped away at the tail of my childhood,
She became free—
Leaving me. And she,
Becoming a sordid tale in the neighbourhood.

Her people could not understand.
My father could not understand.
And so, he ordered for a thousand drum of rum to numb all holes that
Had opened, wide sores in his heart.

One day, long after my father’s breath had nailed the earth,
A letter arrived at the door. It was from my mother.
“You wouldn’t understand, dear.” It read
“No matter how much you tried,”

My mother was a Maggie.
My father, a Maggie’s husband.
And I, a Maggie’s child
With blood as mad as the sea.

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