The Number One Predictor Of Child Abuse
The charts lie silent upon my desk,
rows of numbers, columns of grief,
each statistic a child who learned too soon
that fear can wear a familiar face.
We search for causes—
the bottle tipped over in the sink,
the powder hidden in a drawer,
the belt hanging on a nail in the garage.
Yet the figures return, stubborn as winter,
pointing not toward monsters in shadows
but toward homes remade,
where bonds are still uncertain,
where love has not yet grown roots.
This is not an accusation,
for many stepmothers and stepfathers
have carried children through storms
with gentleness greater than blood alone.
Risk needn't be their destiny.
The scientist must say what the numbers show,
and the poet must mourn what they should not know.
A child needs more than a roof,
more than food upon a plate.
They need the unspoken covenant—
the promise that the larger heart
will never feed upon the smaller one.
So let us not search for villains alone.
Let us build protections,
teach patience, offer help,
listen when children whisper.
For every case number was once a name,
every percentage a trembling hand,
and every child deserves at least one adult
where unconditional love asks nothing in return.
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