(To The Memories of Jon Benet Ramsey, Sherrice Iverson and Ryan Harris)
Sometimes I reach down to hold your tiny hand
And I come up feeling powerless and helpless and
Unable to understand, why I will never see you
Playing in a schoolyard, backyard or
Playground because someone decided to take
What the world had found:
Three beautiful little girls,
With ponytails and bright faces
Whose pictures and stories have
Turned up in so many places
To tell stories of torture and abuse
To show the world that you refuse
To die down and disappear
Because if you do I fear
That no little girl will be able to play alone
Without the benefit of a bodyguard or chaperone
Increasingly, day after, day, I wake up
In the morning and I hear in the news that
Another little life has been taken by a crazed
maniac
I then immediately think of my precious
7-year-old and quickly react:
I say dear God, sometimes
I reach down to hold her tiny
Hand, and I still come up feeling
Powerless and helpless and unable to
Understand why I must never let go of
Of her hand... But God, I still thank
Heaven for little girls.
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.