Mother

She is a mother.
She unsees broken water tubs and bent bathroom rods.
She unsees the dent upon the almirah's face.
She unsees ripped pillows- with stories of a bird that flew in, and the pillow that chased it out.

She unsees all left over signs of violence 

She is a mother —

She has to unsee it.

Still, at times, she falters as a mother.
Unable to unsee patterns of the life she once lived.
She holds hands and whispers warnings.
But she is a mother.