young girl at the gate of an empty park

she was small and looked even smaller
her long unkempt hair messed up by the wind
she was not waiting, only standing

school work was stuffed in a heavy back pack
the trails of tears still fresh over her blank cheeks
it was cold and she was cold

the empty park she feared most
so she refused to enter
holding a dried rose in her left hand

a girl her age shouldn't be afraid
everybody expects so much
everything looks so confusing

she was just sixteen
and wouldn't exchange her world of colors
for nothing

holding on she stood
at the gates of the empty park
not waiting, just standing

as years went by


eliza bertolotti (Hoboken, NJ, 1981)