ADYNATON

The infant held herself up on her frail hands and soft knees, gazing out to the crisp living green. To her curious eyes, stars sat upon thin miniscule lime green towers. Turning to her parents, she saw, they did not. Hands and knees on blanket would not stay, beginning to edge off the sheet of safety.

As she moved, baby blues darted in wonder, paying no mind to the dirt, which now tainted her. Venturing further, the young child reached out for the alabaster fuzz that had once caught her curious eye. Her hand, already spoiled by green and brown, now also had specks of white, torn hastily from a once quiet bed. She gazed as the seeds of fuzz flew from her hand, so young and ignorant, until a single seed remained in her blind clutch.

 

A gasp far off resonated in the air as the wind grew. Mother shifted from distraction to rage. Her mind, a spark, fanned by harsh winds. Gentle waters could clean soft hands, but the darling’s hands were no longer darling, caked with mud and a single seed trapped inside. A sharp hand with more strength than awareness, more strength than intended, pulls the child up from the living mat, fearing the chaos the child innocently sought. With a mother’s quick scrub, the seed is gone, but the dirt remains. Staining both. The child wails, silently sustained.