We hid eggs in tumbling creek waters,
on top of moss covered rocks,
and watched while children hunted in meadows,
peeked around trees,
found an owl pellet, crinoids,
and cracked into those eggs long before
we could count to see if they’d all been found.
A trail of shells, an egg or two left behind,
our bare feet and catching up talk lingered in Spring water.
Toes numb, we moved back towards the house for more food,
kite flying,
warm legs in the sun.
We reveled in spring,
like those mamas and children were doing,
on this same day,
before the explosion
in a park, in Pakistan.
Later, I needed the darkness to gently wrap us in sleep,
like I often need when the muchness of our day catches up with me.
One more story after stories,
prayers with her and then down the hall with him,
who was not in bed, but building a zip line across the walls of his room.
After a cup of water, a fresh one, and one more kiss,
I collapsed into what I hoped was the nothing to do part of my day,
and I read she was found,
the 18 month old,
stolen from her bed, raped, murdered
just miles from here.
I am tiptoeing,
one foot in front and one behind
in the anxiety of anticipation,
the what if that is her,
here one minute and then just gone,
or him running around the park with his friends,
too far off
for me to get to fast enough.
I am catching my breath,
knowing it can happen here,
it is in fact,
and even when it isn’t,
it is not so far away.
I am grabbing and gasping for hope,
when they head off to the neighbor’s house,
the one I can’t see from my front porch,
when he and I sit in a crowd,
surrounded by people we don’t know are good,
when the exit is so far away,
when an angry driver, hate plastered on their bumper,
swerves and cusses because someone is not driving fast enough,
when the woman running the Turkish bakery is harassed
and I’m there, not able to do enough.
I wonder
each day the hate spews,
the explosions continue,
the laws change,
the Earth melts,
the water poisons,
if this,
this is the ONE,
the moment
it is clear
love is not leading
and it is time it was.
~KGS
Veda Stanfield
April 4, 2016 12:13 pmOh, yes. My heart is right there with you.
Glenda Breeden
April 9, 2016 5:07 pmWow…(said with a long sigh, Kelly.) You captured that mother empathy of children far away and near at home and how it’s impossible not to connect it with your own children. Especially after the fun and carefree egg hunt, and the easy going bedtime routine–loved that part–felt so familiar. Thanks for spilling your heart and gut in such a beautiful piece.