Century Park

A nine-year-old girl
often wakes up under the aging palms
in a deserted park, to stay the day
a bright afternoon squandered again, the heat rises above the grass.
The girl ambles to another area to sit lest someone discovers she's alone.
A pile of yellow dog-eared zoology magazines lay untidy to her side.
A soft caress upon her cheek to lessen the dry heat, a breeze flits by.
The fleeting wind quenches the thirst felt from drinking from the park's boiling water fountain.
The girl squints down the street, trying to eye people and get an idea of the time it is?
Wondering and squinting, thinking about echoing slams of cabinet doors and chairs scrapping. Families make their way to dinner and talk about family things.
The girl begins imagining if she can return home without being seen.
Is it okay to go home?
The young one closes her eyes again.
I do not belong.