The child
She is lost
Her mother Is gone
Back
Somewhere
In a hazy memory
Of a campsite?
Or a cookout?
Or something
Maybe
She wasn’t watching
Talking To fast
And juggling spoons
For too many people
The child didn’t like the crowd
To many faces
Smiling False smiles
Their eyes blank
They looked like plastic
The child ran
Down a forest trail
Lined with ivy that itched
Trees
That peeled away like faces
Gray bark
Green leaves
Wood hearts
Silent trees
Bright berries grow in clumps
On bushes
The purple ones
Are good to eat
They burst on her tongue
Full of sunbeams and sugar
The forest beckons
The child is gone