Kitten ballerina,
Led to nursery foyer.
Hops in arena,
Excited to explore.
Bright face doll,
Open heart, hopeful eyes.
Trusting all,
For where her future lies.
Kids hard at play,
Don’t greet; they ignore her.
Shouts she to they:
“It’s me; I’m here to stay.”
Searches my eyes,
Hers ask: Do they like me?
Appears not shy,
Plucky, looks for happy.
“I’ll be this many,”
Four fingers, flags them up high.
Teeth shine a plenty,
Smiling proud, but soon subside . . .
“My Daddy, he’s coming to get me,”
Looks down, uttered words most grievous,
Small talk, but burned in memory . . .
“She’s gone … Mommy lives with Jesus.”
-JOE COBB CRAWFORD
The Poetry Company