no strings for memory to pull

i wish that i had known her
whoever she would have been

i only have a few pictures of a tiny child
with swollen eyes
and bloody lips

it is just not much for imagination go on
there are no strings for memory to pull

it is hard not to get lost in wondering
who that child could have grown into

and it does not matter how long i stare
her deathly still expression
offers me no clues