by Elisa Knecht
A little girl standing on a brownish wooden porch,
A “Welcome home” doormat on it, lying still, homely,
mockingly. She just got back from school, a fading smile
on her face, her curly hair in a bun, pink shoes, wool white gloves on each hand.
Last night’s shouts are screaming in her head,
They are black grey and red,
She tries to control them by singing a song she heard,
A few days ago at recess;
Rainbows are visions
But only illusions
And rainbows have nothing to hide
And it is working but soon
he passes by her, trips on the scratchy carpet, leaving it folded
on one side. He does not say goodbye, not a kiss on her cheeks and
she remembers this big black bag and its bumpy wheels
that he dragged to car. The sound of it won’t leave her head, her mother’s embrace
and her friend’s can’t cure it all.
A father, a mother, their daughter, her sister
Weren’t they supposed to all live together?
The little girl wants to ask and to know,
Daddy, where will you go?