No great genius has ever existed without some touch of madness. -Aristotle

You should never doubt what nobody is sure of. -Willy Wonka

In the end, we all become stories. -Margaret Atwood

It might be possible that the world itself is without meaning. -Virginia Woolf, "Mrs. Dalloway"

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

Sweet Child

We walked a ways behind them upon leaving the fairgrounds.
We were a close group, balancing sweatshirts, prizes won, and souvenirs.
We shared memories peppered with laughter of a long, happy afternoon.

They walked in a line, the small, tiny one off to the side, her head down.
They were quiet, solemn, empty-handed.
The biggest one walked over to her, grabbed her matted hair from the top
And pulled her along, tilting her head to the right as they approached their car.

In our horror they drove away, her future sealed inside that rusty old car.
Tears replaced our laughter; we prayed for the sweet child.
The memory of her tilted head invading our happy afternoon.

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