Pedophiles
A girl is taken from your neighborhood.
Searchlights, midnight, suburban woods, three days
they seek a 12 year old. Six words: “I should
have stayed in Utah,” surprise takeaway.
Your summer break, BYU, freshmen year —
can’t drive, 19; she disappears. Pony
pink bike, supine castoff in trees. Austere
adult childhood, your Mormon family.
“There’s pedophiles.” He says it straight — why you
should stay in — dad you hate. Helicopter’s
overhead, you hear inside your baby blue
nightmare bed — danger in being daughter.
You hear them searching for one right outside.
Your pain’s plain sight, but pedophiles all hide.
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