Mango trees
and bamboo shadows.
Sleeping dogs
under bright,
midnight skies.

Innocence and
Excitement—belonging,
only to the child—
weave in
and out of hiding.

Familiar faces.
Familiar face.
She begins to run.
Fear takes over
where there should be
fearlessness in familiarity.

Sharpened blades
of lengthy
lemon grass leaves
slice at her young thighs.
Still running,
pain is introduced.

Her pace.
It quickens.

Chased.
Faster!

Oh God!
Faster please!

Moon—
you Judas!
With your familiar stance,
you betray her play.