Amidst lightbulbs and crucifixes on 25th Street,
stands still a four-year-old in her white nightgown
witnessing her mother and father talking, yet she
cannot hear—her shock makes their voices drown.
This little girl used to be a woman
who once dwelt in this little home so long ago.
A woman who found solace in a cross, in the stars,
in the moon, in the trees, in Lao Tzu, in the Tarot.
Light bulbs blinding her eyes, her face,
her mind, her eyes, her body, her tears.
And now her little home is no longer a home–
–it’s a reminder for her to stop squandering her years.
Little girl, you may be in impressionable form once more,
but this time Mommy is unable to engage in play.
We both see that now all she really can do is to
struggle and hope to live at least one more day.
– Christine Byczkiewicz
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