Saturday, August 21, 2010

For Four- Year-Old Kaitlin

There can be
no words of comfort
for murdered Kaitlin
hair washed and
lovingly cleaned
dressed in crisp white
and arranged
fetchingly on
beloved pink sateen

There can be
no words of comfort
for Kaitlin pretty
under that small
shining white
casket lid

No comfort in the heaps of
blooms thrown in
helpless profusion
in the gaping hole
of what he did

There can be
no words of comfort
as Kaitlin in cruel irony
is returned back to
the black earth
where she was found

Her mother shivers
holding air
chilled by warm
as the tiny girl
is covered by the ground

Stone faced
at talk of
loving arm's
celestial embrace

No comfort for the
loved ones as they
lean one into the other
a mass of tangled
torment touching
among averted eyes
not one who can them face

Four- year- old Kaitlin
found sprawled kill raped still
in the damp wood
a child who would
have her peanut butter
sandwich made just
the way it should

Words of innocence
above that now covered casket
babble non-sense on
a ruffled breeze

Kaitlin last looked upon
the face of evil incomprehensible
etched into her eyes
with photographic ease

Rest sweet Kaitlin
perhaps for you this can be so
in the woods of your
death sweet jasmine may
inexplicably grow

Drift sweet Kaitlin tumbling
in the sparkled sunlight
on the soft wings of
white butterflies
take flight

There sweet Kaitlin one with
each petal, dancing dust mote
salted sea drop and all
known and more

sweet Kaitlin
embracing the ripped
grief-dumbed hearts left

1 comment:

  1. What a heart-breaking loss!

    Butterflies, they say, are free--your words are so moving.