The Girl Behind The Fence
She sees me.
She stares at me.
She doesn’t judge,
She just wants to pet my dog.
He can only lick her hand though.
Not even a normal fence.
Chain link.
Allowed to see the whole world-
Everything she can’t have, like those flowers
In the meadow behind her house.
She can only watch them grow.
Three years old, I’d guess.
I call her Kelly, in my mind.
Big eyes, fresh new flower dress.
A head full of ringlets medusa would be proud of, brown.
Glad there wasn’t a “do not feed the child” sign on the fence, I
Checked with Mom, on the phone, who waved her OK.
Then I gave her some jelly beans,
Soon found out she liked them all… Well,
Not cinnamon.
Two years swim by, waving as they go.
She only likes red jelly beans now,
Scooby shirt as ragged as the blanket she drags,
Mom still on the phone.
April (I found out) has a bruise on the back of her leg,
Mommy is wearing a lot of makeup for a stay-at-home
At seven in the morning.
At 7 years, her wide eyes have started to hollow,
And she doesn’t look at what color I give anymore.
She just stuffs her face like she’ll never eat again.
Her hair is pulled back with an orange ribbon,
And everything about her about her is perfect,
Even her laces - “I tied them myself!”
Mommy is holding the phone with her left hand today.
I think she hears me tell April about a park down the block.
The next time I walk by,
Mommy is at the mailbox. “That park…”
Soft voice.
“Take her with you?”
April is really nine and a half
She tells me. This is her first “big girl date”
She also tells me with a scoop of
Every flavor ice cream they have in front of her.
She picks cotton candy as the winner.
I buy a gallon of that, and one of
Vanilla for mommy. So small for nine years old.
I wish…
The next time I see her, her arm
Is in a cast. She doesn’t bring
Ice cream home from our “dates”
Anymore. She doesn’t look in my eyes,
And when I put a hand on her shoulder,
She flinches. When I help her eat
Her ice cream, she smiles again, and
The whole world starts to dance.
We plan.
Next time I bring wire cutters. This time,
It’s dark.
When the cast is gone, I wait until Mom
Won’t see me. We’re walking down the street,
Hand in hand toward the shelter, and she yells,
But not for her daughter-
“Take me with you!”
We do.
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