“Momma, Momma!” the boy, breathless, shouted, ‘MOMMA!”
Finally, she turned toward him
“Sweet boy, calm down. What is it? What is it now?”
“Momma! The men killed her! They killed the girl.”
“Hush boy,” Momma whispered.
He was just six, she thought. He doesn’t know what he saw.
It wasn’t until she held him…it was then she knew she was wrong.
The moment her sweet little boy felt safe
he began to cry. And he cried.
He cried and he cried and he cried.
And Momma held her boy;
wishing she could take it away.
Whatever it was he saw.
And whatever it was that happened to the little girl.
At the pier across town
the men shuffled away
with not one hint
of the little girl
lost that day
at the water-less “pier”
for her tears.
Anna K Peters