For Rosemary Kennedy:Lost Daughter

The way the light reflected from bits of hanging glass,

Twirling in the winter morning is how you remember Christmas,

Not the break neck speed that the family would gather around the tree

those cold Boston mornings,

Yelling, boisterous and gallant,

Your brothers

golden boys shimmering in the light

Young gods waiting for their bud to blossom

Teased you for your complacency,

Your name,

Keepsake for remembrance,

Fragrant flower with a hint of sadness mingled,

Groomed for New England tea parties and social graces,

Not the lost gaze of self-reflection,

Little Bo Peep with no flock to keep,

This is how they remember you,

Lost girl,

Slowly walking down a haunted corridor,

Drifting merrily down the stream,

You,

Were not lost,

There were

No words to describe the

 feeling of

Twirling

                     Endlessly,

Dervish

Until they took you away,

And you never

did find your way back

 from that

haunted corridor,

Not understanding that

paddling upstream with no paddle

can last a lifetime.

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