Day 442

(from a photograph)

She stands on what may be a beach.
Someone has brushed her hair neatly,
tied it back in a bun, held it in place
with a white headband.  She wears a dress
with a tiered skirt, ruffled half-sleeves
bordered in lace.  She’s looking at something
to her left.  She could be nine, ten.  Younger?
Her feet, in white clogs, firmly planted
on pebbly sand. In the earlobe
you can see, an earring with a little stone.
Someone has been able to care for her well
at least until now. It’s only after a moment
you notice she has just one arm.  Her left arm
hangs at her side, thumb buried in the printed fabric
of her dress.  Her right arm, amputated
at the shoulder. What is she looking at, 
mouth closed so tightly, eyes clearly
focused?   Is it all she has left behind?
Everything she can remember?   
She could be holding back tears.  She may
be watching as a cat or a dog
or a younger child, maybe hobbled,
attempts to walk toward her. There’s no one else
in the picture, the space behind her
vast. You see how alone she is, this girl
with one arm standing with nothing, no one,
around her, her dress clean and ironed
as though she were going somewhere.  As though
she were able to go somewhere.