The young woman, who’d lived wild and free and easy,
and who had those scars,
played with the toddler girl, on the edge of the pool.
Young woman, too close to a child, but too far from innocence.
And all these young ones, drawn to children,
who were true and free, who had what had been lost.
They splashed at the water, blue and clear as sky above,
and they laughed, and made up games,
and by accident spoke the names of angels.
The toddler would one day be like the young woman,
wild and free and easy and would have those scars,
and would be drawn to children just like her.
Those who still had what was lost.
Generations turning in corruption and loss.
And I am the same. I am one lost. Wild and free and easy.
I carry those scars.
And I laugh now with a child, and we make up games
and accidently speak the names of angels.
For a moment, my heart doesn’t ache.