From time to time you’ll see Stolen Moments show up on the blog. Words forgotten and misplaced, poetry, anticipatory memories, prose, joy and sorrow, pensive emotion, random and not so random thoughts scribbled in tattered notebooks. To not forget but remember the precious, fleeting stolen moments in time. I’m a writer trying recapture on paper how it feels to be alive.
White Boots and Freckled Faces
Jacqueline Cioffa 1998
Where is the child?
Where has she gone?
Did she get bruised and beaten down?
Oh she’s there
Over there
There she is
Dancing and laughing
And spinning
Wide open
She still believes in a better place
And a better time
And sees the good in mankind
Muddled behind the murky water
And she cries a real tear
One teardrop
For all that is gone
And counts
And she gets it
And sometimes she wants to die
So swollen with emotion
Not afraid to cry
Not afraid to be touched
She doesn’t cringe at the thought of physical intimacy
And she’s full of trust
And she’s let go of the void
She’s the voyeur
The mighty, the strong
She’s her mother and father and brothers
All rolled into this neat package
That’s the best of all of them.
Jacqueline Cioffa 