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A Missing Child

Updated on December 17, 2012

Will she come back through the door?

Where is she? How is she coping with

the cold?


We move on, live life without the questions

but how can you erase memories etched

in your brain like acid that eats away

gnawing and chattering the fibers

she swallows from a glass bowl.


A call in a summer afternoon;

they’ve found a body in the boon

docks, near the weed, heating tall grass

where she lay, they say. Come to

the morgue.


I hold my breath

as the

sheet is pulled away from her

face, rustling, and my mind

reels, expecting to see the famous mole

above her lips a Bermuda triangle

scar wrinkle in the corner

of her mouth as she smiles.


But it is not her. They look uncannily

similar, but it is not her.


Floodgates of hope

open revitalize the wastelands,

crickets thawed out of ice, chirring,

as our hearts melt and go through the

tortuous steps again of bereavement and

wandering like an oil filter, becoming black

as the blackest star

turning night to day, and moonshine to

greasy lubricant that move our engine,

one throttle at a time.

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    • Gypsy Rose Lee profile image

      Gypsy Rose Lee 4 years ago from Riga, Latvia

      Nothing could be a greater tragedy than a missing child.

    • katoly profile image

      katoly 4 years ago

      i feel i don't want to finish reading it

      wow ...

    • always exploring profile image

      Ruby Jean Fuller 4 years ago from Southern Illinois

      This is something we never want to see, a missing child. Heartfelt poetry..Awesome..

    • writinglover profile image

      Jennifer 4 years ago from Lost...In Video Games

      You've left me speechless...amazing hub!