Little Girl Hidden

Her hands are the shadow

of the little girl hidden

behind adult clothes and a career.

Still, she holds them

palms up, waiting.

Or she grapples with the ropes

of a pulley system

she will never master;

it always ends

with a make shift noose.

 

Her hands are blistered

from carrying the coals

she found hot and heavy in pockets

of people she shouldn’t save

yet rescues in spite of herself;

until she realises she’s choking,

or drowning, or breaking clean

like glass.

 

Her hands would fit in the palms

of a child much happier than she.

A child whose skin is soft

with fingertips from cherub cheeks

and she hopes the heaviest weight

they will ever bear

is a bunch of wildflowers;

bursting with bumblebee breath.

 

She hopes the salvaged remains

tying her fingers together,

tethering her to those who told her

to fix things she cannot

will fall apart, scrapped

into metal and dust;

leaving her

with hands to pull daisies

from the ground,

smell them and create

a crown for the little girl

hidden behind adult clothes

and a woman’s eyes.

 


 

© Kristiana Reed 2018

2 thoughts on “Little Girl Hidden

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