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As I sort through old pictures
it is a stranger who stares up at me.
There is a small child there
Whose face shows no signs of shattered innocence.
She is dressed like Wonderwoman
an idol long since abandoned
and her eyes seem somehow familiar.
I shake my head
denying that we are the same,
but the girl smiles sadly
as if to say
You will see that I am a part of you.
That girl has suffered the wounds of childhood.
teaching her never to let anyone close to her heart
to keep hurt away.
In her eyes is a wisdom
acquired from her pain,
unlocking the memories of a girl buried long ago.
I close my eyes
preparing to hear her story
finally acknowledging
that the little girl is me.
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