Monday, June 1, 2009

Who Are You?

making grimy mud pies in the dirt

shaping the dark, cool muck

into round compact disks

scoring the top into wedges

with a bent twig

decorating the pies with flowers

totally engrossed in the task

only the breeze as a playmate

until a caterpillar called her name

breaking her reverie

and sending her screaming

across the lawn

looking for her mother

who laughed until tears streamed

down her cheeks

and the young girl kicked her pies

breaking them in pieces

so they could return to the dirt

from which they came.


cafe selavy said...

she'll prefer solitude to company when she's grown, I would think.

beatriz said...

you've captured a kind of collision of child and adult realities. tragic and beautiful.