Wind through branches
and fern leaves,
quiet water over smooth stones.
Malia’s voice softly singing to the trees.
I hold the green bareket.
If my grandfather found this for me,
I wonder if he could help Malia, too?
Maybe there is a stone that can help her skin?
Then her voice stops,
a sudden quiet,
like someone turned everything off.
I see small ripples in the pool,
like an invisible stone
dropped in its center.
And then, all at once,
the trees begin to sway
back and forth,
except there is
no wind at all.
Then, a rumble in the ground,
a sudden jerk,
the foot of a giant
stepping down.
I look for Malia.
The trees shake faster,
the tops of their trunks bend and sway;
in the distance, I hear a loud crack
like everything
breaking
all at once.
Then
suddenly
it stops.
Silence.
The birds begin again.
I stand there, frozen,
trying to find the courage to look for her,
feeling the unstoppable words rise into my mouth.
I shout her name and start toward the woods.
My arm catches on a sharp branch
and I feel the bark scrape my skin.
When I look down, drops of blood are already forming.
I cover it with my shirt sleeve
because suddenly I see her running toward me,
but she looks different. The blanket is gone.