Baby Girl’s Been Downloaded

If you have a digital camera
(or you are thinking about getting one)
be careful that a portal may open…
to an online orchard
of innocent dreams
of flesh as soft as peaches
of brilliant leaves reaching for a ‘lil sunshine.

I you have ever wished
that you had more money coming in
imagine what twenty bucks will mean
to a young, fresh teenager…
to pay off debts
you look away when she huddles over the keyboard
to buy those little extras you’ve always wanted,
you ignore the long sigh then the click click click
to just to save for a rainy day
you don’t realize she slipped away
until the rainy day has come
amidst the thunder,
a strange silence…
from an open window,
a cold wind shackles the warmth
of her blanket, pink and soft as cotton candy
drops of silver rain fall on an empty bed
littered with e-mail flirtations.

This is a seduction
masterfully crafted within your home
a reassurance of safety, of family
violated like a peach wrenched from a tree
before it has blossomed
the e-mail you read today
will reveal Baby Girl
for a moment, forgotten…
has found someone else
to hold her forever
to tell her she is wise
to tell her she is pretty
to tell her that her parents don’t understand
then encourage a smile for a camera.

Innocence is a tease
a sun-warmed peach
the tickle of suggestion
as juice drips down the lips
(seems, so, well—innocent)
twenty bucks to pose
dimpled cheeks gain praise
a glimpse of blossoming flesh
at first, willing to bare
just a shoulder
then a few buttons more…
her brown eyes, your brown eyes
gaze into a thundering world
but see only peach trees
of innocent dreams
(shining—yet still out of reach)
beneath golden sun rays
fields of long, green grass
tickle her naked toes.

Baby girl can’t comprehend
a small taste of something sweet
will impart a hardened seed
engorged with her flesh, her pain
where her heart once beat.

Cold rain continues to fall
Baby girl is on the street
the digital camera forgotten
now eighteen, she is getting old…
there will be a man to love her
(there always is)
a moment of a promised forever
passes in a few minutes
she still believes she is wise
she still believes she is pretty
though she has forgotten
what it meant to playfully run
barefoot on green fields
or feel the warmth
of the sun upon her face.

The rain falls, so unrelenting…
Baby girl will seek shelter in a library
and find her parents online
too ashamed to return home,
she still believes they do not care
click click click…
she is gone again.

You will regret all those moments lost
(before Baby Girl slipped away)
while you dreamed of buying those extras,
she dreamed too—
of what twenty bucks could afford;
a dimpled smile captured on digital camera.

While you wished for more money coming in…
Baby girl wished you would see her
(to stop her, somehow)
she has been plucked,
then thrown across green fields
now muddied as she rolls and rolls
farther away, her clothes a tangled mess,
a part of the past lost to her.

Still you believe,
in the undiminished innocence
of dreams, of prayer
where Baby girl once felt loved
Lord keep her safe
Lord bring her home.

Lynn Mari, ©2007

For More Information

Cyberwise.ca: Be safe, be wise. Protect our children
http://www.cyberaverti.ca/epic/site/cybk-cybe.nsf/en/we00134e.html

The Child Protection Society: a White Ribbon Campaign Against Child Pornography and Exploitation on the Internet
http://www.geocities.com/capitolhill/5021/

Stop It Now: Together We Can Prvent the Sexual Abuse of Children (1-888-Prevent)
http://stopitnow.org/
Keeping Safe on the Internet:
http://stopitnow.org/downloads/Internet_Resources.pdf

Wired Kids: Dedicated to protecting children from sexual exploitation related to the Internet
http://www.wiredkids.com/
WiredSafety.org

Holiday Blessing

Today, is the Day, Now is the time,
To live in joy and let your life shine.

Open your heart and do your part,
Let your compassion flow,
Like a love-filled dart,
Sent from the Divine archer’s bow.

We are all “One,”
But humanity has remained undone,
Let your being fill with “Light,”
As you sing the carol “Oh Holy Night.”

In doing this we shall be,
The heaven on Earth we wish to see.
Our hearts shall sing with love,
As we are blessed from above.

Gods love-filled “Lights” we shall become,
Upon the tree of life as “One,”
Peace, Love, & harmony will be the norm.
Our Beautiful Planet shall be free from harm.

Manifesting, “As above so below,”
Holiday Blessings will continue to flow,
Long after the ground is free from snow.

“CiBelle of the One Heart♥”
©2005

The Secret River

St. Paul Riverwalk

The multi-racial lineage of my family is but a whisper…
secretly we know it is
secretly we deny its existence.

When you talk about ‘mixed’, memories turn to obvious reminders
relatives with the lighter skin or the straighter hair.
Of course, they are mixed, what else is there to say?

Underneath the rumble of our voices,
the turn of our smiles,
is the secret river of our bloodline,
carrying not only genes but a hidden shame.

So we don’t look that far back in our past, don’t ask questions,
and turn our eyes away from the obvious.
It is much safer to be black.

Black is a color that blots out any stain,
awash in darkness our feelings are numb.
Fumbling through the darkness,
we find each other, we always have.

We love our blackness because they once hated us,
from their hatred we came together as a family,
loving our dark skin, curly hair and midnight eyes.

We love our black babies,
bestowing dreams upon our children
of them all, the strongest is a wish,
a need to break free from the past.

So we moved forward by embracing
the black that blotted out all painful memories
Our children are the most visible reminders,
so through their blackness,
we sought to remove from ourselves
the most painful reminder of our humiliation.

We worked and fought to create
our own place in the world
a unique vision of what it meant to be black.

Woven within that vision were the traditions passed down
in our memories, beliefs, family recipes.
And yet, we could not escape
the secret river that rose through our veins,
washing the black
with something strikingly different.

Lynn Mari, “The Secret River”: 2007© All Rights Reserved.