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