This place was her sweet paradise,
where she ran and played, picked dandelions
and talked about Dandy Lions prancing in the grass
and the wishes the granted when you blew the seeds.
 We stayed here, when trouble came, her family lost,
the home burned, the plague and violence everywhere.
But the violence never touched this Little Eden.
I played games and songs and told her stories, to make her smile.
My maker made my emotional core better than he thought.
 And she lay and dreamed under the big blue sky,
talked to the angels and her family in heaven,
and I tended the plants and garden to keep her fed
and to keep her safe. I do not sleep, so I’d lay her
in my metal lap, and protect her in the night.
 Then she too was gone, my little darling, my cared for child,
and I buried her by the clear and cold stream she played in
and swam with mermaids and the King of Atlantis, so easily.
I tend the garden as the roots absorb her flesh, a communion,
returning her light and innocence to the world.
 The plague and the violence took them all, and if my eyes
could make tears, I’d cry over her grave until I was nothing
but rust and loss. The emotional core makes me humanlike,
so humanlike I know the pain of loss.
 I tend the garden, still, until my batter dies at 500 years.
Her spirit and innocence is in the grass, in the trees,
in the nestling birds and the Dandy Lions granting wishes
as the seeds blow in the wind.
 She is near, I feel her near, though she’s been gone so long.

2 thoughts on “Kindergarten

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