Just a tiny mark changed everything
Myopic and vulnerable without them
I could mourn with her
Take her in my arms, protect and console
But as soon as they went on
She became professorial before her time
and I felt an aversion
could see why she was shunned
and guilt on the heels of anger
swiftly sidelined compassion
How could I hate those rims and pebble lenses?
Shaped her from entirely innocent to prissy know-it-all?
I must have hated her for drawing to her the outpouring of viciousness that spewed from all the other angry little girls.
Little girls who in that old school photo looked just as dismayed by their abandonment.
It breaks my heart.
The forget-me-not blue on an old sash windows reminds me of love.
It was such a long time ago.
By contrast my grandson (just months younger now than I was then) is a picture of vibrant joy.
This has to be progress.