dry grass prickles my feet, <br />9 years old ignorant toward <br />the feeling that paralyzes my heart, <br />creates a lump in my throat- <br /> <br />close my eyes and cover my ears <br />(hear no evil) <br />I can pretend I don't actually know <br />she's dying- <br /> <br /> <br />I sit criss-crossed in the dirt- <br />a crooked wind bends the grains, <br />shivers the skeleton inside my skin. <br /> <br />going against my inner fear <br />I call to her, <br />is she able to hear me <br />above the sounds of her dying hymns. <br /> <br />then I come to her, <br />as if it were a dream- <br />she looks far beyond her years, <br />though I know her well; <br />I know of her light, <br />I know of her faith, <br />but I know not of her death. <br /> <br />too young to understand, <br />an indifference- <br />she walks to meet God <br />in her garden, and I follow <br /> (too closely) <br />she says she needs time <br />alone to write her thoughts- <br />and I wonder if I'm in them.<br /><br />Amberlee Carter<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/11-year-old-memory-written-early-2001/
