“There Was A Child, And Still She is”
There was a child went forth every day;
And the first object she look’d upon, that object she became;
And that object became part of her for the day, or a certain part of the day, or for many years, or stretching cycles of years.
The first sight she saw out her window every morn’ (bordered with a nebulous pink scene and dancing gossamer shades, whispering temptingly propitious promises of summer):
The horses grazing in hills of swaying flora across the way,
And the swarming ants under the soft green umbrage of a fruitful apple tree,
And the quiet girl in the books with her sketches, the boisterous pirates daring and defiant against all grown-up wishes,
And the violet twilight sky raining scintillating stars over a warm family outing to the country cemetery–
These all became a part of her.
Later, the music calls and, like a siren, drags her in – she became the music, too.
She swells as the music does, feeling intricate melodies reverberate through her body.
And the blinding lights – the infinitesimal gray between the blackest shadows and those white lights –
And the blood red curtains, the blood, sweat, and heavy breathing of the bodies exuding life beside her,
And the life of the characters that consume her, when she dons a persona with a different name
And the tap-tapping of heels –
These all became part of her.
The verdant country, the dull brick red city, and all of their colorful inhabitants shape her body and mind,
Perhaps more than any other entity you might find.
There’s her parents, of course, there is no denying genetics’ wonders and the power of eighteen stationary years.
And there’s the relaxed Californians and the bustling New Yorkers,
And the loving, glowing faces at church every Sunday,
And the teachers’ perpetual presence, leaving the feeling of pressured breath lingering down her neck,
And every peer who passes by, unaware of her eyes watching, absorbing.
And her friends became more of her being than she would like to admit;
Their happiness, their intelligence, and interesting interests that seemed to make them, ironically, individual,
Their talents, ideas of aesthetics,
Their open-minded generosity and, detestably, their rare spots of wickedness –
These all became part of her.
Finally: an enigma, a collage of the past, present and future hopes,
A kaleidoscope of meshed images stumbling through space looking for answers,
Yet, content in this paradoxically purposeful floating movement.
All of her questions and questionable answers–
These all have become part of her.
She’s leaving now, like the ebbing tide,
Bracing herself for the depths and creatures of the vast, deep void of the future,
And she is so thankful to have all of those things that have became her,
Helping keep her afloat.
The colors and the characters are there, following her in her shadows,
These are reflected in her pale complexion.
These became part of that child who went forth every day, and who now goes, and will always go forth everyday.