Teddy’s Grave

Under the repetitious tap of an indecisive rain,
a child’s first favorite toy turns to pulp.
Can it be saved? Her life is turning away
in a new shower of sparks, in her new beliefs
with their chemical base, in a craniosacral stew
boiled since her birthday.

This toy’s tinsel that charmed her
before she could speak mixes uneasily
into the ancient soil. Everything comes
to get what it will have. I don’t know
what I mean, here, finding the old thing,
smiling at what I can’t say. I sniff
through the rain and put that back,
right there, back to its decay.