wearing too-small pajamas,

a six-year-old child

stares out the window,

watching her mother right here

strapped to a stretcher right now;

sirens lash the driveway.

the child hugs a one-eyed bear.

the night etched forever

like dates on a tombstone,

but tucked away in shadows—

a razor and rubbing alcohol,

bourbon in the back of a closet;

her heart slashed more than her forearm.

we can shape the past

by opening it in the present:

take her in your arms right here;

wipe her wet cheeks right now;

let held-back tears flow—

no longer frozen at six.

a motherless child,

alone at a window,

tucks the memory,

sharp edges softened,

gently back in time.

Clair Scott

Claire Scott is an award-winning poet who has received multiple Pushcart Prize nominations. Her work has appeared in the Atlanta Review, Bellevue Literary Review, New Ohio Review and Healing Muse among other journals. Claire is the author of Waiting to be Called and Until I Couldn’t. She is the co-author of Unfolding in Light: A Sisters’ Journey in Photography and Poetry.