She couldn’t have been older than 3. Then again, three tends to look like two in Japan, and five like three, ten like seven and twenty like twelve. Maybe she was five.
I watched her hands as they reached for the bubbles.
Young
Soft
Miniature hands
She grabbed for the little globes
Rainbows near her eyes
They danced all around
Up and away
Circling about
Playing their elusive games
And when she caught them they hid themselves further
Popping with surprise
Bursting with envy
Out of desire to be higher
I observed her carefully
Pondering her life
A child survived
Innocence deprived
A giddy, giggling little thing
She bounced around
Chasing her toys
Making little noises
For a moment a child plays
In a nation where wrath did not delay
Rainbows near their eyes
Hope dancing all around
Playing its elusive games
Evading little hands
Gently now
And outstretched arm
Descending from above
It lands on her palm
Fragile grace
Like glass it breaks
For a moment a child plays
For a moment hope remains.
