SHE LIVES

Here's one from the October 2004 chronicles... 

The girl with the wilted flower in her little head swayed her tresses in gay abandon, all the while smiling away at a bird in a tree pecking away at an acorn. Not for once, does she stare at length, at the sight about her, which is prettier, by far, than the animated activity up in the tree. She is a sweet little angel, full of freckles. She is all of six, at an age when innocence is still a faithful friend. She cries in joy as the bird takes to flight after moments of full-bellied dawdling.

As she wipes the tears from her eyes with a swish of her sleeve, she picks the wilted flower from her hair, brushes a few petals off, and resumes her walk back home.

Back home to an unlit room with no windows. Back home to a father with no work. Back to her siblings with no food in their potbellied empty tummies. back to her mother who's pregnant with the fifth of her seemingly never-ending progeny. Back to a thankless life that holds no promise, no joy, no hope, no love.

She talks in warbled words and nobody cares. A long day ahead of her, she laughs at the butterfly that perches upon a soaped vessel, near her feet, and gets back to work.