Literary Mama writing about the many faces of motherhood
Out the Window

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At first, I told my kids to close their eyes
as we drove past twisted deer,
stripes of blood painted down
the road like watercolors,
pieces of squirrels scattered like
tattered socks, but
now I say nothing.
I know what lies ahead is worse than forest animals
killed by careless humans or careful humans,
in a hurry or not.
It doesn’t matter how nicely you live your life, how
giving you are to others, how high your grades are,
how much money you make or how clean your house is.
A boulder of sadness will sit on your chest one day,
you will feel unable to breathe or think because of
the sudden death of someone you love,
so you might as well look at the road kill
when you are young.

Elaine Gilbert has had poetry previously published in Exquisite Corpse, B-City, and Literary Mama. A graduate of the Creative Writing Program at San Francisco State University, she lives in the suburbs of Philadelphia with her two sons, her husband, and Tucker the dog.

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