The Girl by the Pond

Mother sings to me by the old green pond.

I dip my toes into the stillness 
and let the algae paint my feet.

Her song is sung without words. 


Her voice carries through the thick bracken of the woods, 
high over the canopy of the forest trees. 

I try to match her tune.


I want my voice to carry with hers. 


I want our harmonies to dance through the night and wake the sun.

Mother likes it when I sing with her. 
She doesn’t say a word, 
though I can feel her voice grow stronger, more proud. 
I yearn to match that song, too. 

Mother sings to me by the old green pond. 

She whispers to me to stay hidden in the reeds, 
as her dripping dress rises from the deep.



My mother is beautiful. 


I want to be that beautiful. 


I want the moonlight to kiss my skin and shine out from within me.


I want my footfalls to float, never bending the grass. 


I want the scars on my skin to dissolve into my beauty,
as my mother’s did.

Mother sings to me by the old green pond.

“It is time,” she tells my heart.



I hug my knees, closing my eyes to her lullaby, 
breathing in time to her melody.

Her song drowns out all else in this wood. 


With it, she holds me close. 


With it, I can hear her say, “I love you. 
You are safe.” 


And one day my song will echo back, “You’re safe now, too.”

Mother sings to me by the old green pond.

The green algae swirls with the ripples 
as the last few tufts descend into the watery dark. 


Mother holds my eyes as she dips gently back into the deep.


She has finished her song for the night. 

“One less,” is the final refrain of her song. 


“One less man to hurt you.”

Mother sings to me by the old green pond.


By the old green pond I will learn her song.