Where is my Child, my little girl?
The time has passed and left me by
Sitting alone, pensive, praying to angels in the sky
Asking them to spread their wings wide and fly
Please swoop to earth, please shade my once little girl
She’s left, she’s gone, and I remain here old and frail
My hands now tremble weak and uncertain
My feet shuffle me about the house in worn out slippers
I am no longer able to venture outside to clip the rose bush with clippers

I wait all day near the telephone, dozing, waiting for her to call
The day passes, so too the night, the morrow follows still no call
She must be busy, preoccupied, making her own way, living her own life.
Still, I lift the phone receiver and place it to my hard of hearing ear
Maybe, she did call? Perhaps I fell asleep, and her ring I did not hear.
The days give way to nights, the nights to weeks, weeks to months…years.
Alas! At last! A faint distant ringing I think I hear. It must be her, it must be her calling!
My arms, my hands, they fail me, I cannot reach to pick up, she’s calling!

Michael! Gabriel! Rafael! Please! Wait! Wait!
Allow me just one more moment! A moment!
It may be her? She might be calling? She might be calling?
She mi….ght b…..e ca……………………………………………………….
Rudy H. Garcia 3/6/14

Author: Rudy H. Garcia

Rudy H. García, from Port Isabel, Texas, has a Master’s in Education from the University of Texas at Brownsville and earned a B.A. in psychology from Pan American University in 1976. He is a participant in the Narciso Martínez Cultural Arts Center Writers’ Forum, and is a founder of the Laguna Madre Writers Forum. Rudy has also been featured on the radio program “Themes and Variations.” His poems are published with “Poets of the East Village” in New York and he has been a featured reader for the El Paseo Arts Foundation and is published in numerous other magazines.


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