5/11/94- .

                                                                        5/11/94
 
                                                     .
 
         "The death of a child is a period before the end of a sentence."
                                         Carl Jung
 
 Loss and survival held in small hands
 Pure smile before the mask
 I had to ask my mother
 What I was like when I was five
 My memory unseated on the board
 
 I find myself crying for a young girl
 Who I never met
 Yet I know her and many others
 Better than the closest child
 Such wise teachers in small clothes
 Show me things I'd turned my back on
 So basic, uncomplicated, filled with nothing but want and love
 I hold them close to save the moment
 Allowing me to see the eyes of a younger self
 
 My life is unwrapped, paper and tape stuck to my shoe
 Gifts children play with for an hour, break and get bored with
 Now later, the fascination returns to the present
 The present
 Love given, love lost, a life bettered by the association
 I have lived more than one lifetime
 And am grateful for each moment
 My tears cleansed by smiles
 From other miracles.