Childhood Crime
It was so pretty.
It flashed on that girl’s hair, Emily
at one of those holiday sleepovers
and I wanted her leftovers.
It was a silver barrette
with a red rosette,
adorned with fake ferns made from green jewels
ones that cast sparkling lights of emerald pools.
All through carols I watched silver and red
grin at me from the back of Emily’s head.
The snowflakes falling from the sky
watched me like reproachful eyes.
During dinner the heat from the fire got to Emily
and she became dizzy
and put her hair in a high ponytail.
The barrette became an abandoned detail.
I looked around once, twice.
My hands felt like ice.
My clumsy fingers snatched it in a blur
and then I was in the clear.
I slipped it into my pajamas.
Emily cried later, but her mom said they had extras.
The barrette throbbed in my pocket
and I felt my heartbeat skyrocket.
When I got home I buried it
in the back of my closet.
I intended, for the rest of eternity,
to forget about this flaw in my morality.
I would let my childhood crime
become covered by the sands of time.
by CHELSEA GUO