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.