Thursday, August 28, 2003


it’s really not a challenge
finding a little girl: I’ll even close my eyes
no doubt she’d race up the stairs
agonize between playroom
and bedroom and choose what’s
familiar: green-lilied comforter,
grandma’s chest, Pooh’s corner
and she’d wait there trembling
in a tightly contained rapture-
a giggling lump that defies the landscape

ten hours later and she is still unfound
nine rooms left behind in a whirlwind dash
eight hundred thousand times calling her name
seven million possibilities, grotesque and mad
six multiverses charted in entirety
five o’clock AM and still going
four steps at a time at the staircase
she’s not even three she’s not even three
two hearts ruptured, bleeding, betrayed
one father crumbling into dust

come out, come out
wherever you are


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