September 17, 2008

Little Girl’s Haven

I remember…

A decade ago…

A little kid, seven years old

Sitting on the beach

A little sand dune

My own private haven

To which I escape

And hide for hours

From that man

Who calls himself my father

Watching the azure waves

Crash against the sand

Sea foam, like whipped cream

Tickles my toes

I rub the bruise on my cheek

Where he had struck me

A tear rolls down

I rub it away

I must go back, and face him

Look into his cold, hard eyes

I watch the seagulls

Dance on the wet sand

My finger traces

The v-shaped foot-print

To have wings and fly

Just soar into the sky

And fly away

I get up

Sand sticks to my legs

I smell the salty scent

Of the sea, and I wish

The waves would carry me away

Far away from that man

That man, who calls himself my father

Poli Blintsovskaya

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