a poem

There lives within me
a 5 year old, a playful
soul, a tender being.

Trembling with aliveness, she
is a hollow reed through which
her feelings flow: here, a
high flute note of joy; there,
a small body frail with sadness,
fear, her daily bread.

So sensitive, I hold my breath
not to jar her and I hold her
when she shakes, convulsive
with pain and longing, or
exultant with life
excitement.

Wide-eyed little girl,
etched in pain and joy,
put your small hand in mine
and together we will be.


by Elizabeth M. Cheatham