THE CHILD - INNOCENCE

Cut Short: An Echo of Columbine

She stares in the mirror at her golden hair
That the stylist has cut too short
And her eyes well with tears

Once again
I am astonished
At the depth of ache in my own heart
At the smallest sign of her pain
Immediately, I want to fix it, make it better
It is almost a pressing need . . .
Drain the dismay,
Smooth away the hurt,
But I can only offer words
“It’s cute honey. It just looks different to you,
that’s all. It will grow.”

And at this exact moment
Another beautiful young woman
Just your age
A beautiful young woman
Who, like you, played the lead in her school play
Lies dead on the floor of that school
All of her possibilities
Cut short
By insanity

And at this moment
A mother waits
Watching a door
For a face that will not appear
Listening for a voice
That will not speak again

Heart break
Is not a metaphor

How in the name of heaven
Can this fragile vessel
a human heart,
Hold this kind of pain?

And now she sleeps
Her lips slightly parted
Her eyelashes dark trembling birds
Against her creamy skin
She smells of perfume, powder
Innocence
Her short golden hair fans against the pillow
And she dreams . . . .
And she breathes . . .
And it will grow


©Edwina Peterson Cross
(April 20, 1999)