right in my own town
right in the very same
village where my own
daughter was playing
last night, saying,
‘mom, stop worrying
so much; this is a safe
right where she ran with the other girls,
her hair trailing behind her like a mare,
her heart wild-singing under a full fall moon
right at the almost-age of young woman
it is a heart-gut-soul-wrenching terror
to have a child in this world
in this place where every thing
you think you know is pulled out
from under you
from inside of you
under a heart beat
it makes you want to hide
and keep your children inside
for you know this is not the
first or last time; for you know
you cannot fight this kind of evil
but what kind of life is that?
love out-endures in the long end,
and perhaps faith carries it there;
but where do hope and joy
go in that monstrous moment?
joy is gone in a flash — with the girl
hope must be kept alive at the bedside;
otherwise, how do you ever get up again?
how do you ever close your eyes to sleep?
how do you ever trust to dream?
UPDATE: Fiona returned home safely the following morning. No further details provided (or needed). Thank God!