here is a story

she runs

short stubby legs carry her

with the occasional wince of sore sour pain

far        and wide

      across gritty rough playground plains; deserted

's running so fast 

but she doesn't know why

and doesn't know the wheres and whats and hows

she runs

and fumbles

and stops

and trips

all at once,

she is staring bemusedly at her hands planted firmly in 

   dirt gravel

how did they get there and why has she stopped?she was flying and came to amidst broken dreams and blood vessels

  when she goes to get up she sees twin pools of red streaming down her legs

stops

wonders

stares

feels

cries

bawls

no one is there to see her
help her up

rivers turn to streams turn to trickles to salt water tracks down her face

smeared with dirt

and small

               pebble stones

gets up                           totters home

where mother is sitting, back-facing, on the other side of the screen door

slips inside as silently as possible

with the subtlety of three-year-young grace

to the bathroom          onward march, ye weary soldier

where she climbs onto a wooden stool

unknowingly leaves a trail of bright red stains against snowy carpet

and finds the large white box of bandaids

puts one on each knee

then two

then three

just in case, for luck, with love.

all smiles 

for grownup wounds require grownup bandages

returns to mother beaming with tear-dried cheeks