I am too old at nine

I am five years old.

Nearly as tall as my older sister.

My Papa holds me to his chest, sobbing

I have never seen him cry before. 

Mama brushes my sister’s hair,

She is ten and seems to know why Papa cries,

Because she cries too.

I cannot understand it, so I hold Papa,

My arms are too short to reach around him

I settle for patting his sides, 

And he speaks to Mama in a strangled voice.

If I was older, I would get it.

I am seven years old.

Taller than my older sister was at seven.

I watch my Papa through a chain fence, 

They have covered his face with a bag

I can only see his tears leaking out from the bottom,

Running down his neck to water the ground,

But I know nothing grows here

In this place.

There are other men, not like my Papa.

They are wild things,

When they hold you, it hurts. 

I thought I would understand when I was older, but I do not.

I am nine years old.

Taller than my older sister was at seven.

Mama brushes my hair now, 

And I stop myself from asking about Papa.

The chains, the bag, the other men,

They all ate him up,

Until there was nothing left to hug anymore.

I miss my older sister too,

I have lived two years longer than she ever did.

I wish I did not know all of this

Now that I am older.

I can remember when I was young.

What a wonderful time that was,

I long for it.

And then I cry,

Because the past, it is unforgiving,

And the future seems bleak,

When the present is so empty.

I long to be five again, held by my sobbing Papa

Without knowing why,

That was when I was happiest,

When I did not know a thing

Because I was not old enough.

I am too old now.