Janie was playingand tossed a word thoughtlessly:
called her sitter "dumb."
She'd been told it hurts --
she'd been told not to use it --
but out the word tripped.
Her sitter, calm, said
"That really hurts my feelings,"
as Jane's lip quivered.
Jane whispered "sorry,"
ran off to her room to hide,
fell asleep crying.
When the sitter came
this week Janie hid her face
and sobbed in my shirt.
"I feel sad, Mama.
I'm so sorry I hurt her.
I can't look at her."
"It's ok, Janie,"
her sitter tells her softly,
"I know you're sorry."
But Janie still sobs.
Pulls covers over her head
as she hides in bed.
Before I left home,
Janie had fallen asleep
tear tracks on her cheeks.
"I don't want her back,"
Janie said in the morning,
"It makes me too sad."
"You made a mistake,
but you learned and you're still loved,
and shame can poison."
We write the hurt on
on some magician's paper,
and I strike a match.
Eyes wide, she watches
as the words flare and are gone
with a flash and poof!
She smiles up at me,
face softly glowing with joy,
and whispers, "That helped."
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