I cried me a river many times. Mostly for my children. The daughter I wanted protected. For my son with big ideas, stranger whose world collapsed. After my brother and a few friends died knowing their role in my life, I cried me another river. Some said pray and I did, questioned God’s sovereignty ‘n cried me another river. When I asked for change life remained the same. I wished I kept my struggle hidden. decided to not ask again. But cried a few rivers.
A Registered nurse, wife, mother, poetic writer and United Way volunteer.Born in Belize, migrated to New York at age eighteen. After studying nursing, worked as an emergency room until starting a family.Having both natural and chosen children, it was the emotional struggles of the chosen ones that gave birth to many of her poems.Ruthieg believes that when all is forgotten or ignored, expressive words linger or get heard. That it is important for the hurt and wounded to have a voice, for that purpose, many of my poems were written.
A misbelief breaks into rags. Still I dream of some gods on black pages piecing together the words of light. The rains come in the cage of tears, voicelessly. Striated muscles of splintered faith go to cramps birthing the avatar
Thanksgiving never will I forget Hopping in the car for a very long ride to grandma’s house With heavy frost on the grass, glistening in the sun Singing songs and counting grain bins to pass the time Now the frost
Are you too busy drinking While I’m on the floor sinking Are you too busy forgetting about me Getting high around 3 Forgetting who was always there for you All we had been through Do I even know this new