She has blonde hair

now. A little boy
with a stick too big
in a field. Alone.
Walks. Walking
toward something
for nothing.
Dreams. Doesn't listen
runs anyway
and falls. Hard.
Cuts his knee.
Cries. Little fist
still clenched
around that stick.
It's why he fell.
It helps him up.
For now. Until
he throws it away.
With both hands.
Farther in his head
then where it lands.
He cries. Again.
It was his favorite stick.