This poem is…a very tough one for me to read sometimes. I wrote it in the perspective of a little girl whose mother had recently died of Aids. A little girl in Africa was in my mind, and she had a little teddy bear…a little teddy bear which she told everything. No rhyme scheme, but there is a dialect written into the piece, so I hope you can hear it when you read it. Thanks!
July 6th, 2005
Mr Teddy? Are you awake?
I’m a little scared and it’s very dark.
I hope I don’t squeeze you too tight.
Just tell me if I do, ok?
Are you getting wet, Mr Teddy?
I’m sorry. I can’t stop my tears.
I think I’m more wet than you though.
You know very well why I’m cryin’.
You have ears too, you know!
Yes, you do. They’re sittin’ right on top o’ your head.
I see them. I do.
And your eyes can see too.
You saw them take her away,
With my favorite blanket over her head.
I miss my blanket. Momma stitched it for me,
Just for me, not for you.
Why would you need a blanket like that?
I don’t want it back though.
No, she’s not comin’ back.
I know a’cause Abby said so.
Abby wouldn’t lie to me, ‘cept just that once.
You do too remember, my goodness!
Remember when the doctor came over.
Abby said he was for Gramma,
But he was for Momma.
Gramma did get sick and she left too.
Momma said she went to Jesus.
I guess that’s where Momma is too.
Last week Momma said Abby would watch me
And take care of us.
You better be more careful a’cause
Abby doesn’t stitch like Momma did.
You might fall apart a’fore you know it.
Mr Teddy, please be careful
So you can stay a long time with me.
Momma said if I hugged you, you would hug her.
You must do it when I’m gone
A’cause I always see you when I’m here
And Momma’s not here no more.
I’m tired now and I think I’m out of tears.
Momma always said I could cry a river.
Good night, Mr Teddy. Don’t let the bed bugs bite.