Out in the street
chalk lines, half-erased,
echo a child's brief laughter.
A rag doll
once her bedtime friend
lies faceless in an empty lot
waterlogged by endless rain.
Behind closed doors
a mother plays a deadly game
full of smiles and flashing eyes.
Two years of baby hugs quite enough now
~ for the young and beautiful.
Behind closed doors
the muffled cries that no one heard
cries that no one listened for
except the toys ~ who were her only witness.
Pictures on the evening news
flash across the screen tonight. . .
A precious package found. . .
broken, torn and dirty
food for animals,
strewn like treats among debris
pieces of a stranger's child
we knew not ~
~ Yet we mourn together
this little life
as if she were our own.
Joanne Cucinello
2009
