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I SAW A SILHOUETTE OF A GIRL
Once I saw a little silhouette of a girl,
curled up by the tree,
near a bed of early spring flowers.
Her hands were operating
an invisible world of her own,
a world full of adventures,
heroes, singing, laughter and magic.
A little house made of moss was full of
harmony and life.
In this world, she was in charge.
The sun came down.
She left.
I didn’t want her to leave.
I didn’t want to see her at night.
But I saw her.
In a darkened room,
visible under the dim glow of the moonlight,
she lay there.
She was smaller and grayer,
less visible, motionless.
In this world she was not in charge.
They were.
I saw her later in the pantry,
pounding her head against the wall,
cutting her wrists,
forcing the pain into
something she could understand.
Then I saw her only once more.
Her wrists covered by a scarf,
she was standing near her beloved father,
with her silent voice begging him to know,
but fearing to say the words,
“Please, Father, notice.
Notice my pain.
Remove the scarf...”
But the father didn’t ask.
I didn’t see her for the next thirty years.
Today I saw her again.
Her silhouette is bigger and more defined.
Her hands are searching for those flowers.
She touches them gently
with so much love.
And the house of moss...
She smiles as if she saw the distant shape of an angel.
Her heart is looking for the sunlight.
She is crossing the line.
She steps beyond her circle,
unsure, uncertain, scared,
but curious.
She is in charge again.
LILIANA KOHANN
©2000 Artpeace Publishing
