"The Promise of Augusts' Renewal "
A brief glimpse of her in the market
the flash of recognition on her melon face
and the time finally came when I remembered
She quickly deliberately turned away as if
I would hasten to strike up a crisp conversation
the tart apple of her eye her lips puckered tightly
on an ancient misunderstanding of the worst sort
her four year old son in my inexperienced care
that quiet summer day that after-nap changing
the warm drone of bees and katydids that sifted
through the screen the fresh green ivy pattern
of white lazy quilt in the upstairs bedroom
the cleaning gently of his small boyness the tissue bits
that clung persistently to his meek damp skin
the ineffective powder lumps my exasperation
my tsking tongue the sigh of a whimper as I looked up
the tiny forehead creased below a wisp of blonde wavelet
my heart as it wrenched to stone
the terribly soft young voice whispering
the obviously rehearsed dialogue to say in such a situation
please don't touch my private place
my hand jerking back my lips which muttered incessantly
oh sweetie I'm sorry so sorry sorry hands shaking uncontrollably
as I tried to replace a clean diaper regardless
of tissue bits, piss or private parts the heart pounding blur
of that horrid afternoon until five o'clock pick-up and finally
the phone call next morning her curt voice which informed me
she'd no longer be needing my services the instantly
dead phone cradled in my limp hand before I had a chance
to explain the unexplainable that no good parent would believe
the undeserved shame I felt the anger at feeling defenseless
and then out of the blue they moved away
and time went on and on the memories and mysteries
the moment-to-moment minute-by-minute years until
her face turned away in the market today and the face
of a young blonde man at her side turned and held my eye
like a warm ripe peach in a hot August orchard and smiled
© 2002 Maryann Hazen Stearns
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