little girl, little girl,
photographs... lined up in albums like soldiers against
Time's generally perceived stone walls
we wander through;
Little girls cry
little girls cry again.
little girls wander through walls
while tears, big, round, real,
(each tear is noted and rolls like a globe down little girls' cheeks...)
How can you let this happen?
You tricked me into seeing it again,
the same Dream again,
no matter how glossy you make it...
(How can you let him inhabit our memories?)
photos, falling from albums -
sticky disappeared? maybe somebody slipped in a memory.
did she ever really look so beautiful?
you say she still lives in the very same house...
I remember a photograph, the two of them in arms beneath the attic's overhanging eaves...
(How can you let him inhabit our sacred house-full of memories?)