The missing child hides on the front page
this morning again. Others
scatter clues across the back page
leaving names, ages,
photos bare of autograph.
Some look too young, some too old, some
curiously just right. They hide
in stores, the mailbox,
telephone poles, the refrigerator,
they inhabit the scenery,
they invade the ordinary moment,
ashes. ashes, all
fallen down.
This one went to the store,
this one stayed to jump rope,
this one had a ride on her bike,
this one had no reason to be where she was,
this one walked all the way
home.
One, two, play
by the rules, never doubt
the protection of covers, three,
four, aren't there more
heroines to grow,
five, six, aren't there sticks
to ward off evil, seven, eight,
where is solace, sanctuary,
confession, faith,
nine, ten, what do you think
we mean when we say
they are only
hiding.
© Nancy Taylor, 1996
Valley of Saying Home Page Poems by Nancy Taylor