We were children, then,
all less than ten years old. You
were four. We could not
know your dark bruises were not
accidents, but parental.
Kyakuchuu
[jlc]
The memory of Maxie haunts me to this day. When his family moved away, we never knew what happened to him.
The voiceless child...'be seen and not heard'....some things too dangerous to be spoken.
...and he asked her, "do you write poetry? Because I feel as if I am the ink that flows from your quill."
"No", she replied, "but I have experienced it. "
Thanks for the comment. And I corrected the stupid typo in the poem as well.
Seryddwr
The voiceless child...'be
The voiceless child...'be seen and not heard'....some things too dangerous to be spoken.
...and he asked her, "do you write poetry? Because I feel as if I am the ink that flows from your quill."
"No", she replied, "but I have experienced it. "
thanks
Thanks for the comment. And I corrected the stupid typo in the poem as well.
Seryddwr