Headline

It nestles there,

Between the
politics

And the scandal.

Just a
few lines long,

But crying out to be
read.

Instinctively I reach
out,

Caressing each line

With
delicate hands,

That could hold

So
much more...

I trace the words

As
they try to trace me,

But I am more and
less

Than the mother they
seek.

Still I can't forget

The
cries of that

New born boy or

Wean
myself from

These printed
words.

While others can tut

And
turn the page,

I will never be
free

From the questions

In the back
of my mind.