White Roses

White Roses

 

There is a panic of loud voices

and low growls

but the child stays hidden

She wears her red sweater

that the laundries have worn soft

She is drenched with anxiety

that she has no word before

She wipes her sweaty hands

in the hair of her doll

Where she has hidden there is one

strike of sun through a narrow crack

A dozen colors of dust dance

She is wary of hands & hurt

She is alert & very quiet

She is building a castle

of white roses

to hide in at night.

Reviews

[Butterflymom]

OMG, this left me reeling. Very powerful, and descriptive. You and I both know this little girl. You expressed it so beautifully. I am impressed.

[Angela H.]

This is a strong picture with enough of the canvas left empty for us to fill in our own details. I love her red sweater and her doll, which give me glimpses of the life of her, while the fear and hurt swirl all around and through her; and I especially like the metaphor of the white rose castle as her safehouse.

I like this very much.

[AK]

I wish I could bundle her up and take her somewhere safe and warm. As I read this I thought of my two precious grand-daughters. I can't allow myself to imagine either of them "wary of hands and hurt".
Yet I know there are so many others hiding and afraid, even now.

[Emily B]

Reading this, I realize how long it's been since I've felt this small and helpless.

Hands and hurts. Some children hide in closets. Some hide in books.

My mind reels from the sensory details. A truly stunning write.

[Eustacia]

Oh wow, very moving. I like the way you described the sun showing the dust, and the building a castle of white roses. Very good.