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The boy was barely five years old.We sent him to the little schoolAnd left him there to learn the namesOf flowers in jam jars on the sillAnd to learn to do as he was told.He seemed quite happy there untilThree weeks afterwards, at night,The darkness whimpered in his room.I went upsatirs, switched on his light,And found him wide awake, distraught,Sheets mangled and his eiderdownUntidy carpet on the floor.I said, 'Why can't you sleep? A pain?'He snuffled, gave a little moan,And then spoke a single word:'Jessica.' The sound was blurred.'Jessica? What do you mean?''A girl at school called Jessica,She hurts--' he touched himself betweenThe heart and stomach '--she has beenAching here and I can see her.'Nothing I had read or heardInstructed me in what to do.I covered him and stroked his head.'The pain will go in time,' I said.
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