by Scot Hoeksema
Clouds hung low that July night
But the air was more like late September.
The drone of crickets provided the backdrop
For all the other sounds of the neighborhood.
Windows had been opened to let in the coolness,
Breathing out the heat of the day
And the sounds meant to be secret.
The crying slowly separated itself from the more familiar noises,
The sobbing struggling to be known.
And so I stopped to listen.
Some cries need intervention, others just need to be heard.
The unseen girl tried to defend herself
With an explosive retort of “bull!”
But this denial, this flimsy shield
Did not stop the words of her attacker.
Twice more she tried to protect herself,
But the monosyllable had no more effect
The second and third times as it had the first.
Summoning all the strength that remained
She released her final defense,
Pleading with the one who brought so much pain,
“I
am
a good girl.”
The work of the other was finished.
The sobbing slowly ebbed, and the crickets once more dominated the air.
“I am a good girl.”
What was it about those words that scratched at my heart.
“I am a good girl.”
Like a key in a lock long unopened,
Those words turned, but did not release the memory
Shut away for ever so long.
“I am a good girl.”
Were these the echoes of another child’s words?
Another child in the darkness, pleading, seeking understanding
Not knowing why.
Another child still waiting in the darkness,
Wanting to be heard over the noise of the crickets.
I am…,
Yo soy…,
Ik ben…,
Je suis…,
Wŏ shr…,
How many other children cry out in the night
And with how many tongues?
Does anyone hear their sobs
Or do they sink beneath the crickets’ drone?
Does the one who calls himself I AM, hear their I am?
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