IMELDA GRIFFIN
An entry in The Crocodile Prize
Kina Securities Award for Poetry
My eyes refuse to sleep
But when I close my eyes
In my mind’s eye I see my mother
I am combing her hair and she is telling me a story
Of a daughter, born not of her womb but from her heart
I feel the tears weighing down my eyelids
But how do I dry them, when it is my heart that weeps?
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