Your Wisdom

You come to my studio
In masse
Playing, laughter.
Your burden, your gift
To tell the story
Of several dozen children – neighbours;
One child – you.

Starlights, duckies
Balls and trucks,
Innocence beyond
What that pedophile can imagine.

Your eyes big, bright
Filled with questions.
Your hearts filled with answers
Your youth should not have to know.

Using my sculpting tools
We play easy,
We work hard.
Words you know
They’re hard to say.

I am sorry it happened
-- to you.
I thank you for your courage
To Live on,
To tell your story,
For wanting to make a difference.


Michael C. Irving