Where are you, little girl, who used to dance uninhibited as a puff of dandelion seed blown on a gentle breeze? When did the zephyrs start to gust and toss you up just to let you fall so far from home? Feet that used to tap out a two step-melody — skip, hop, skip, hop — now barely shuffle to a deadened beat, trip, crawl to your feet, cover your tracks, repeat.
Where are you, little girl, who used to sing as if your lungs at full capacity could carol notes that would command new life? When did you muffle your voice behind the cynics’ shield? When did your tune become this roving minstrels’ air, to serenade an audience that doesn’t really care, all for a dollar and a cheap imitation of adoration?
Where are you, little girl, who used to dream with sunlit eyes, now a doctor, now a princess, now a daring pioneer, leaping rock to rock, racing room to room, mapping the edge of the stars, inhabiting the moon? When did reverie morph to despair and the chimera blur to a wide-eyed, waking nightmare?
Where are you, little girl, who freely scaled backyard trees, with little thought to splinters or skinned knees, just reaching hard for that brilliant blue seen shimmering above the leaves? When did your climb become a descent, a slide, a plunge, a head-first dive, down a ravenous, cavernous subterrane, a cave you’ve mined with a spade called secrets and a spoon called pain?
Where are you, little girl, who could don rags and oversized shoes and still prance and glow and twirl, because you knew your strength, your worth, your allure? When did you sell your soul to buy the lies in the looking glass world?
Where are you, little girl, who used to perch atop your daddy’s lap, wrap your open arms around his neck and drift to sleep to the rhythmic beat, beat, beat of his heart. When did your embrace invite another? When did you stop your ears to your daddy’s cries, blind your eyes to his tears as he paces and passes sleepless years watching, waiting for you to come back, back, back where you belong?
Where are you, little girl? Can you hear me? Will you rise, little girl, from these ashes? Will you rise?
Will you rise?
Will you rise?
“So you can see I know you’ve chosen your own way
And it’s hard but it’s the road you’ve traveled on
And I pray my life, more than these words, will clearly say
That Jesus loves you, He’s loved you all along”
- Jill Paquette
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