Her face is pale, and half in a shadow,
her eyes wide and frightened.
She stares at the floor,
her thumb in her mouth,
withdrawn, standing in a corner,
avoiding my eyes.
In everything she does, there is fear;
the way she walks,
the way she tenses when you speak,
the way her expressions clearly say she expects the worst.
I touch her arm,
trying to reassure her.
She jumps away and looks back at me, terrified.
I focus on her darkened stare,
but as soon as our eyes meet,
she quickly looks away.
Her eyes frequently dart back to me,
as though checking if I’ve left.
I open my mouth to speak,
but stop when she sees and winces.
I wish there was something to be done,
but not much is possible,
not with an abused, five-year-old girl,
beaten past any physical measure,
into mental instability and pain.