I look down at the pen in my hand, the poem in front of me. It’s not what I meant to write. I was supposed to be doing an English assignment…and somehow this came out. I walk across the hallway, into the next bedroom. There she is, so innocent in sleep. She just arrived this morning. Melanie. Our new foster child.

She’s only five, yet there are so many shadows behind her eyes. I wonder how that happens? I’ve been lucky; obviously Melanie has not.

I go back to my room, sit down on my bed. My insides seize up. I want so much to do something for her, to help her somehow, but there’s no way to reach her. She’s so young, and yet she’s left no doors open.

Grabbing my favorite old teddy bear from the closet, I go back into her room. “Melanie,” I whisper. “Mellie.”

Eyes bleary from sleep, she sits. I hand her the bear. I’m not sure if she even knows she’s awake, for she slumps right back down, clutching the bear.

Maybe there was no point. But maybe I helped, just a little. That’s all I can hope to do.