An Encounter

Some days, the child within me
lies inert on the beach
where she would usually play.
 
I go and find her,
suggest that we inspect
the wonders of the rock pools,
or skim stones through the waves,
even walk in shallow water.
 
She retreats and rails at me.
Sometimes she lifts a weapon
that comes to hand: a stick,
or maybe a different standard entirely,
won from her mind.
 
She has learned not to trust
the outstretched hands of grown-ups,
their soft voices ready to turn vicious.
 
How can she know
that I won’t drown her in the rock pools,
strike death blows with a stony word,
force her into the deep
where she can no longer stand upright,
because, in one dark instant,
I think it will be good for her?
 
So I sit near her and listen.
Let her rage, till she can tell.

Share!