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Silky Talk
(a Kaitlin poem)
"Come let's race"
He talked "silky"
tall words lanky like
the new colt in the barn
"Come let's race"
and because she was
four and he was no
stranger, just a little
whiskey grandpa breath
she ran with him
barefoot across the
wet grass to the waving
marsh- there in the reeds
his pants dropped in a puddle
pain bloomed blood in her mouth
and there in the isolate murky marsh
a razor flashed honed steel bright
her last four year old befuddled sight
as scythe sliced the finish line ribbon
