The giant air force helicopter,
spinning its arms,
the president bent over,
arms extended,
reaching,
and five feet away,
Caroline racing towards him.
This father child embracing
amid the roaring engine
and slashing blades,
froze the moment,
making it part of a different world,
a world of greater meaning
than my own.
I saw her pony
I swore undying love to her
I filled the hours
with rescue fantasies of her.
And then this man,
her father,
was dead
and my whole neighborhood wept,
even the Sisters, especially the Sisters.
I didn't
because I was only seven years old
and had not yet learned
to weep.