​They killed her.

She was so lively,
questioning everything.
What's this word?
What is that? How does this work?
Romping in a T-shirt and loose pants, with tousled hair,
she races ahead of me,
all smiles and curiosity.

A year later.

She sits subdued by herself
in a corner,
not a single word.
She approaches me when we are alone
and wants to talk about books
(my favorite topic).
She confesses,
she was rebuked for reading too much:
"Stop filling your head with nonsense!"

I'm shocked.
So, she sits there in a clean trim blouse,
hair combed into a neat ponytail,
traces of cosmetics on her face,
and no longer smiles.

They've made a lady out of her.

I mourn.

​

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