The Weight of a Child

The last letter you sent was four months ago.

I have read a hundred times or more.

Each time I read it, I hear your voice;

it quavers with emotions as you tell a story

of a little lost girl who stole you heart.

You wrote how you held her in your arms

trying to comfort her from the war.

She quieted down and nestled against you,

as if she had found shelter

from a raging storm that thundered relentlessly.

In your arms you carried her for five miles

to the next village, it was there she was taken from you.

It was in that moment you knew

the price of war, you knew in your heart

she would not be the only one forever scared.

Between the lines the ink bled,

from your tears and mine, forever stained

with this embedded memory.

You asked me “how does one forget

the devastation, the anguish, or the eyes of death”?

I thought about your question for days

and prayed for an answer.  I found

no solitude until I read a story in today’s paper.

One sentence stood out as if it was a message, it read,

“Never forget your past for it will lead you into the future”.

 Copyright 2004 Tracey Hardie