by Katelyn Wallach

"Who is that?" they whispered as 
My name was called.
Always so quiet.
Shy child, nervous child.
Locked away in another room,
Dreaming of what could be
As I sat in that room,
Mother's eyes so red.
I wondered if it was my fault that
She did not sleep.
Did not dream.
Abandoned dreams.
So sad. So sad.
I wish I could have met her before this.
Before all of this illness,
But I didn't.
So I sit here
And I think. 

PoemSamantha Schutz