the old men remembered her always sunny face the scowled excuse for a smile the skipping she loved to do alone
the women couldn’t forget the shiny white shoes she kicked off when they scooped her up and hustled the family away
after a three day rain the leather swelled then curled in the sun more rain came with mud before snow tried and failed to bury them
the little lumps would speak in a tiny voice to those who would listen such innocence the men avoided and the women found difficult to hear
by the spring they were gone indistinguishable from root and peat soil and trash
that memory joined the first line in a parade
that marched slowly painfully back into the past while the future kept all the pictures it could find for those who never wanted to forget