Little Girl

 

 

What is it about a father

A father dying

That can make a grown woman

Feel like a six year old girl

In a world spinning down and out of her control

Like the voice of the her broken dolly

In her ears

Nothing but empty arms.

Arms that cannot hold

They cannot hasten this death.

 

Starry, starry moonful eyes

Shedding tears in colors

The colors of the crayon box

Melting on the table

Outside in the sun

Will it ever shine again?

Just outside

Beyond your reach

No ability to save or halt or change the end result?

 

 

kath nehls

august 6, 2007