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Pigtails Against the World
A black dress draped off me
Flowing with the wind
Following the crowd
Roses clutched in my hands
Alone in the crowd I stood
No one bothered to watch me
Not passing most of their hips
I was invisible
Fixing my pigtails I watched her go down
Six feet down
No hands held my shaking wrists
Tears streamed without a mother's kiss
Shoulders hunched over without a father's hug
Seven years old
Too young to be at a funeral
At a funeral alone
Copyright ©
Johanna Hartnett
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