two weeks ago

ten minutes before I arrived at

my community college for 9:30

British Literature

a girl died in a wreck

just outside of campus

hit by a semi—it was an accident,

they all said

and blocked the roads and called

ambulances, but not soon enough

to keep us from seeing what was left

of her car, now surrounded

by unreality. She was loved,

she is perfect now, the papers will

soon say. We even gave her

thirty seconds of awkward silence

in a half-circle between

Collins Hall and the Science Building.

There are therapists upstairs, a guy reminds us

if anyone needs help

understanding why.

four months ago across the ocean

in a country some people say

doesn’t even exist

a six-year-old was “found dead”

in a car wreck

that was caused on purpose

by the people who were supposed to be

protecting her

who wear the uniforms and are called

the most moral army on earth.

she was older than she was,

even though the papers showed her

smiling next to a pink teddy bear.

and still every day she walks beside me

in my mind

especially when I’m babysitting

I see her everywhere, in every kid’s face

I remember the little girl

accidentally photographed behind her

and wonder if she survived.

I remember that for her

no ambulances were allowed to come

she was undeserving, they said

of paramedics, who would have carried her

who would have whispered to her

you are all right now.

and more than that, they could not even find her

in the country that might not exist

in the car that was wrecked on purpose

that no ambulances were allowed to reach

for twelve damn days

first her little voice waited, clinging to the phone

and bleeding

then her little heart stopped beating

but still her little body waited

for her mother

and the paramedics’ strong reassuring arms

and even then

her little bones waited

until she was only ash and silence

and nobody said

she is perfect now.

she is in an unmarked grave

in a land they call “a graveyard

for children”

and when college students in America

(who are like me

only braver)

named their campus hall after her

the papers called them stupid,

agitators, anarchists, commie rebels

I guess that is the price you pay

for being the one

to care

but it is not enough

the world did not stop

nobody was silent

nobody cared

about her

and ten thousand other

vague shapes

that were once children

in a country that might not exist

I think about

pink flowers in a little girl’s room

pink wallpaper too

and baby angels, they’re crying

for you

and your baby stapler

and your coloring book

and for all the children

who are told to fasten their seatbelts

like me

I was too scared to cross the street

when I was her age

I was too skinny to leave my car seat behind

I would have slipped right through the cracks

I was not strong

and when I hold myself up beside

pictures

I am not strong

hind, the lady on tv

called you a “woman”

but you were six, you knew better

so why do they still call me a girl

who is more deserving

of life?

your mother

remembers your perfect eyelashes

your perfect cheeks

your perfect hair

is she allowed to say

you are perfect now

my baby, now lifted high above

the darkening night

who on earth was not allowed

to be rescued, who had to sit

in time-out waiting for death

that took so long to come

but now clouds have reclaimed you

and everything

your perfect eyelashes

your perfect cheeks

your perfect hair

they have lifted you high

above the ashy planes

and the blood-streaked buildings

they have carried you

to the garden to walk with God

forever

nobody will ever hurt you again

they have dried your tears

they have your family

and your little friends too

and you will never be scared

of the dark again

the shadows that bound you

into a thimble’s hollow

are gone

and you are one

with softest clouds that pour

their sunshine and honey on you

and say, honey, honey

you belong to us

you are perfect now.