She was only 3

She was only 3,

When her little heart shattered

His truck was hijacked,

With her daddy inside.

Control was lost

Screeching tires left skid marks

Locking up brakes,

Excessive speeds sent his truck

Into a barrel roll

Off the road

Down the meridian

Like a trapeze performer

Flipping end over end until

The end

Leaving a heap of crumpled metal,

But she didn’t care about the truck,

Only her hero,

Who was evicted from

His crushed body.

She was only 3.

When her house woke

To a nightmare

Strangers

Telling unbelievable truths

A horrific wake up call

Personally delivered

While she slept peacefully

As she was only 3.

Her brothers envied

Her innocents, her naivety

Angry they had to deal with

Reality while she was oblivious

Her brother asked

‘Are you ever going to tell her

That her father is dead?”

How?

She was only 3!

When her mother delivered

The blow

She screamed

Hysterically, inconsolably

For her daddy to come back

By the refrigerator

In her mothers arms

For hours

Until

Her brother

Picked up the slack

Asked if she wanted to play,

Tears stopped,

In a moment of distraction

But she was only 3.

It didn’t leave her,

The loss she felt,

they said

It wouldn’t affect her

Because, after all

She was only 3.

Sometimes she would

Wander off to cry alone

Wishing he would come back

Other times

She would approach

Strange men trying to recruit

A new daddy

From store isles

A cautionary tale

Would ensue

To always wear

A seatbelt

Because her daddy didn’t

But that was only a half truth

Of what happened

That she could understand.

Because she was only 3.

And as she grew, grief

Followed her

Like a shadow

She had to learn to carry

And express,

Like when she

entered

The school talent show

And sung

‘Cowgirls don’t cry”

Loudly

Hoping that her daddy

Was watching from heaven,

Do you think Daddy

Could hear me? She wondered

Out loud

Breaking the hearts of

Eavesdroppers.

Grief, loss made her

Fearless, and fierce

Joking about death,

Because her sorrowful tears

Were to much

For some to look upon,

And people would turn away

But his little girl

Wanted to be seen,

And so

She adjusted the grief

She carried

To accommodate

Others,

So they wouldn’t see her through the eyes

Of pity, which she wouldn’t allow.

Through out her life,

She has learned to console

Those that inquire about

Her dad, What about your Dad?

Where does your dad work?

And she has to break the news

To them, her dad is dead,

Softening the blow by lying,

“It’s okay,

I don’t remember him,

I was only 3.