Unmoored
The purity of my sister’s beauty held life far beyond her time.
The magic of innocence and the power it possesses, bewitched her children
to safely hold.
An early death she encountered and left me without courage to handle the
days to come.
My only hope was to rise with her sun.
Little curls unkept, desperately needing a bow, bounce around to find truth untold.
Sleepy cries and angry tears look at me for reprieve from the blow.
The touch of my sister lies within these magical beings.
I gather them in my arms and feel her nudge.
Frailty of mind rests on those little eyes, knowing more than I.
Only through innocence did I have the courage to see, and yet, see past.
Days and nights muddled. It seemed a semblance of normalcy would strengthen our resilience.
Late night, inconsolable cries left the baby and I without resolve.
Songs of slumber, rainbows and mommy, were sung to the steady rock of a chair.
After depleting the strength of my own, I left her baby to cry.
No sooner had I closed his door; little sister was standing by.
A quiet clarity fell from her lips.
“This is not right”.
Her touch was unbeguiled, and she possessed no judgement.
Would my sister have been upset for letting him cry in the dark?
We stood looking at each other. She did not flinch.
Her sweet spirit was strong, and it pierced right through me.
I turned and opened his door. She followed me in to make sure.
Her fortitude commanded justice, and it was eagerly given.
We all slept together that night…
Purity birthed Innocence to shine on what is just.
Children like hers belong in fairy tales.
