Her father was leaving today, much to her misery,
for she loved both parents and it seemed as though one
was deserting her forever. Who loved her?
What was her wrong? Why was this happening?
I saw the girl and she looked up at me
Our thoughts collided as in a circular bad dream.
It goes on without control, I reflected bitterly,
as I saw the naive thing fling her stick
and strike the moving van. That cowardly machine
would ferry away her daddy whom she’d loved so much.
She wanted to marry him, the girl said to me
after I had gained her trust by relating my own story of divorce.
And now he’s going away. She had horrible fears
of her older brother leaving too, that she’d be bereft of
anyone she loved if her family didn’t stop.
She wrote three letters in the dirt; a tender digit pencil
traced the word she’d learned to spell just that morning.
G-O-D
A large clot of water centrally marked the O, a bull’s eye for any critic.
The girl said that the teacher had told her God was good
They said the prayer before every meal, she told me.
She recited that Jesus loves the little children, the song said so.
Then she became very Job-like, very somber and long faced.
She asked if she’d behaved better, would God still have done this to her?
As far as she knew, she hadn’t done anything wrong.
Without any notice of her feelings, her life was upset
and would likely never be righted again.
I tried to comfort her with words that sounded hollow
to me at three or four and seem as hollow now.
She would visit her father, her brother would stay,
her parents would become friends again and life would go on.
But I remember too well my own pain, the way I felt at three years old.
I remember my nightmares, my brother’s problems
and him clinging to me every time mommy left the house
in case I was the next to decide to leave him.
I remember, as I aged, staying within my family circle
staying with the ones I felt comfortable with, rejecting
anyone or anything that might hurt me by leaving.
And I remember questioning, wondering just what
God thought he was doing right by doing this,
this great evil to me. And as I grew,
I realized that there are some things unchangeable
and out of the control of the people they hurt most.
But as I embraced that young, innocent thing
who let her tears as painfully as letting blood,
I again questioned the decision of that deity
to hurt and change the life of a little girl
who would not understand for years to come the thing
which had happened to her.
Anything I could tell her now
would be as useless as jumbled logic
and ancient superstition.
And as I held the quietly crying thing, murmuring comforting nothings into
her hair,
I realized that none of my prayers would be answered that day.