The Child

She squats in the sand pit molding mountains and valleys with her tiny hands, her fingers clumsily try to grasp the grains then in frustration let them fall, instead she looks to the mangled barbie doll with its coarse blond hair and sharpie-endured face; she picks it up then throws it away again in her trash heap at the foot of one of the one inch mountains; then cautiously, her fingers creeping over the sand, she snatches up the toy car, careful not to wake her sleeping brother, and begins to plow through those mountains, over the doll and her other various toys, wrecking her toddler masterpiece with short fast blows until it lay completely demolished, in ruins.

Comments

Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.
 

 

If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741