Emma

Emma

At one time she couldn't walk.  At one time she couldn't talk.  They did nothing to please her and all they did was tease her.  They treated her like a disease that came in from a sneeze in a hot breeze.  She was treated like a void to avoid in that they thought there was nothing there but mangled hair.  When she cried they didn't care.  She lived in a world of deep despair.  There were no apples in her sauce and she was but a goose at which they used to gander.  Often her mind would just meander.

At one time she couldn't feed.  At one time she couldn't read.  They did nothing when her sores would bleed.  They laughed as if she were a gaffe and they even christened her their pet giraffe.  She was once admonished for breaking a carafe.  Never mind who was really drinking the wine.  Never mind what was poured on the floor.  Never mind that she had lost her mind and was simply crawling on the floor because it was what she was looking for.  She looked to be poor and they treated her as if she were rotten to the core.

At one time she couldn't sing.  At one time she couldn't sit on a swing.  They did nothing to help her do her own thing.  They loved taunting the invalid worm that could scarcely squirm.  Once they pinned to her a scarlet letter and even covered her with tar and feathers and then acted as if they didn't know any better.  They did not know that she wrote to God a letter in hopes that they would act a little better.  They did not know that though they tore a hole in her soul that it was filled with goodwill.  They did not know that sometimes she did smile if but for a little while.

At one time she couldn't think.  At one time she couldn't blink.  They would pinch her and then cinch her with a rope of jokes while not caring that it made her choke.  Sometimes all she could do was cry and sometimes all she wanted to do was die.  One day the holy spirit moved and she began to improve.  It was because she was pure that she was able to endure and she had such a delightful demure.  All they wanted to do was to grab her.  All they wanted to do was to stab her.

At one time she couldn't heave.  At one time she couldn't breathe.  They did not want her to live to see what gives but such a desert flower was empowered.  She flourished because she was nourished with courage.  The water from her tears rinsed away her fears and it cleansed the wounds inflicted by the spears of her peers.  There are now apples in her sauce and she is still the goose at which they gander.  She feels free as her mind meanders.

Orrin K. Loftin, Explorer

Copyright?  When the meek aren't necessarily weak.

November 18^th, 2013