If Weakness Were a Waitress

If Weakness were a waitress,
One tear would slowly creep
It’s way out of her colorless eye
And drag down her bony cheek
Leaving a stain on her unclean skin
And she’d look in her grimy, cracked mirror
And see her brittle, lifeless, straw-colored hair
Fall out in small clumps
As she slowly ran her brush through it.
 
If Weakness were a waitress,
She would be sliding one of her few, stained socks
Over her aching, over-worked feet
And skinny ankles
Before heading to work
Just to try to earn enough money
To put at least a little food on the table
For her four-year-old daughter,
Sick with cystic fibrosis.
 
If Weakness were a waitress,
She would work through her lunch break
Just for the extra hours
And instead she’d snack on biscuit crumbs
Left on people’s plates.
And on the bus ride home,
She would silently weep when she looked at her nails
Once pretty and always manicured
Now cracked, chipped and as dry as the desert
From hard labor and warm dishwater
 
If Weakness were a waitress,
Her hand would shake from exhaustion
As she unlocked the door she had to keep locked
Because of the neighborhood she lived in.
She would draw herself a bath
To try and relax
Before her mom brought her daughter home.
 
If Weakness were a waitress,
She’d silently cry as she laid her daughter in bed
And slowly make her way to her own
Where she’d reach under her pillow
And pull out a solid gold watch her grandpa gave her.
She’d hold it while she slept-
And dream of being Strong.

Because She's Brooklyne

Because her electric blue eyes sparkle when she laughs
And she growls when she’s mad
And giggles when you squeeze her stomach
And cries when you tell her her hair’s turning brown.
 
Because she loves the Land Before Time movies
And memorizes every word.
And wears tutus every chance she gets
And stick people are the only things she can draw.
 
Because instead of saying of course she says, “course of,”
And thinks nobody and anybody is the same
And responds to questions with a shrug and, “sure,”
And her favorite excuse is, “he did it second!”
 
Because she’s brilliant.
 
Because she’s beautiful.
 
Because she’s my little sister.
 
Because she’s my best friend.
 
Because she’s Brooklyne.

Two Poems

By: Brittany Allen