Dear Stefanie:

 

Remember when you were seven;

A little freckle-faced imp?

You weren’t always sure-footed

And often your big toe would be limp.

 

You liked to play with dolls

And brush out their hair;

And loved being on the swings

Flying high into the air.

 

At school you were smart

And wanted to be the first one done.

You thought if you were

You’d be able to have more fun.

 

Your friends were few

Except the ones in your head.

Going home when he was there

Was something to make you feel dread.

 

I wish I could hold you,

Old former self of mine.

You were so lonely

Searching for something you just couldn’t seem to find.

 

You lost yourself in music

And in making up all kinds of rhymes.

You’d play with your doll

And sing to her all the new lines.

 

I sometimes still feel I’m you

Trapped in a tender shell;

Wanting to escape,

Feeling doomed to hell.

 

Oh you sweet poor child

You never had the chance!

Never had the love,

Never learned how to dance.

 

Your next years weren’t better

And possibly became worse.

The hurt inside continued to burn;

Same chapter, different verse.

 

Oh you precious little girl,

With your eyes so blue:

This world is a sad place

One not meant for you.

 

I long to hold, squeeze, and protect you;

To shield you from all that is to come;

To save you from what you’ll go through,

Before all is said and done.

 

As you close your eyes, dear child

Lost in fitful sleep,

I gently kiss your forehead.

And for you–my self–I weep.