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The Mother

             You remember the children you got that you did not get,.
             The damp small pulps with a little or with no hair,.
             The singers and workers that never handled the air.
             You will never neglect or beat.
             Them, or silence or buy with a sweet.
             You will never wind up the sucking-thumb.
             Or scuttle off ghosts that come.
             You will never leave them, controlling your luscious sigh,.
             Return for a snack of them, with gobbling mother-eye.
             I have heard in the voices of the wind the voices of my dim killed.
             I have contracted. I have eased.
             My dim dears at the breasts they could never suck.
             I have said, Sweets, if I sinned, if I seized.
             Your luck.
             And your lives from your unfinished reach,.
             If I stole your births and your names,.
             Your straight baby tears and your games,.
             Your stilted or lovely loves, your tumults, your marriages, aches,.
             and your deaths,.
             If I poisoned the beginnings of your breaths,.
             Believe that even in my deliberateness I was not deliberate.
             Though why should I whine,.
             Whine that the crime was other than mine?--.
             Since anyhow you are dead.
             Or rather, or instead,.
             You were never made.
             But that too, I am afraid,.
             Is faulty: oh, what shall I say, how is the truth to be said?.
             You were born, you had body, you died.
             It is just that you never giggled or planned or cried.
             Believe me, I loved you all.
             Believe me, I knew you, though faintly, and I loved, I loved you.
             Analysis of The Mother By Gwendolyn Brooks.
             "The Mother". I found this poem to be intriguing because the speaker begins by saying "Abortions will not let you forget", and then go on questioning the aborted life. Theses are "singers and workers who never handled the air" a whom the mother ("you") "Will never scuttle of ghost that come". The speaker has heard in the wind the voices of her "dim killed children" and has suffered because of it.
             She unequivocally looks at the fact the children have been killed, cut off from life before having a chance to experience it. The speaker meditates (in direct address to the children) on the "crime" and whether it was hers or not, saying that "even in my deliberateness," and declaring that despite her having "stolen" their birth and their names, that "I love you all".

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