The Kid in Me
Remember the little girl?
The one with the dirty-blonde helmet cut
And the laugh that rumbled from her belly,
That vibrated up through her throat and
Slung ecstasy onto our ears?
I still see her,
Sun-colored sundress covered in pink flowers,
Layered over a white T-shirt,
Running,
One arm outstretched,
Clutching a dandelion,
Joy spreading her mouth wide
And the sun glinting off her silver fillings.
One thwack to the back of her head,
In that same moment.
I felt that wooden beam
Hit my gut
In that same moment.
I remember
My jaw came unhinged,
Saline reached the brim of my eyelids.
What's happening to her? Who's done this to her?
I couldn't save her.
The dandelion fell.
Her body fell onto it.
Is she dead?
Tiny shoulder blades
Moved up, down, up again,
And I watched her spirit
Struggle against the mystery blow.
I should've looked,
Should've searched for
Whoever wanted her crushed.
My eyes fixated on her crumpled frame,
Her undulating shoulders.
The dandelion.
Irrational, I know,
But she loved that dandelion.
There will be more orange-yellow weeds,
Just get back up.
Where I thought I had reveled in her joy alone,
I at last looked up and saw
A crowd had gathered.
When, I couldn't tell you.
She's not moving, they whispered.
Call an ambulance,
Save her,
Somebody, save her,
I should've commanded action.
When the crowd turned and walked away,
I lingered.
But only briefly.
I thought of her through the night.
Maybe we all did.
I returned next day,
Mind hardened in preparation for
Unending guilt.
I came upon where an outline should've been.
I saw nothing.
Then where is her body?
A rustling behind me.
My face fixed into a scowl,
A warning.
I am not friendly.
Do not approach me.
But it was her.
Scowl moved into half-hearted smile.
A guilty smile.
A "please still love me though I left you"
Smile.
I saw no fillings.
Set in a somber face,
Her eyes met mine,
Dropped.
She moved past me,
Quietly,
Almost silently
Past me.
Past the dandelions
Around our feet.
I can fix it.
I plucked an orange-yellow weed,
Here, don't you want one?
At my voice, she turned.
I don't play with those anymore.
Sometimes I see her still,
In my mind's eye,
When it wanders in search of something prettier
Than what's before it.
I remember her.
I see her in old pictures.
She stands beside me in the mirror.
At best, she'll crack a half-smile,
But only when I tell her
I remember her.