he beat the child

thinking that tomorrow it would

return to its old self, brand-new,

a shiny scratch-free Teflon pan ready

for the fire;

 

that the child’s smile

would reappear like the daily sunrise,

or a tape rewound constantly,

gurgling out goose after Mother Goose

of happy songs

 

high-pitched on the swing,

merry-go-round after merry-go-round

of daddythis and daddythat,

its cries coming from a talking doll

on a string,

 

but most of all that

the bruises would rub off with soap

and rough towels, that the skin would

rid itself of its scars, that there are no

memories in darkness.

 

(c) Ella Wagemakers, 16.00 Dutch time (= 10.00 a.m. EST in the US)