She was quiet as a child
Often sitting still, unmoving, unwavering
Watching others swing wildly from branches
Laughing like monkeys, dashing left dashing right
Quiet amid the constant cacophony of childhood at play
Studying the faces, their movement
as if preparing herself for a future as a child cultural anthropologist
This beautiful girl imprinted the colors
Imported the texture, committing the shapes already to the canvas
Shouts of “Mother May I?” punctuating the reverie
Smiling to herself, thinking “duck, duck, goose” to be suitable
for recreating the tempo, the joy, the redemptive nature of those days
The rest of us rushing from one age to another,
Discarding the moments,
Forgetting so soon how it all looks from a three-foot perspective
She captured essential details of our earliest days
Painting our stories, faces subtly blurred as we raced toward the future
Leaving always a patch of light amid a darker field
The patch to signify our abundant, brilliant happiness in those days
when making objects out of cloud formations was our best art form
She was quiet and still as a child
Knowing already that she could preserve
the very moments that we now miss
Those lovely childhood hours when we harnessed the wind for flying
When the alfalfa was as tall as the sky
and the only protection needed was a dog called Rocket
I loved this girl, have always loved her
She is now a beautiful woman and she has painted our stories
The calm, the quiet, the stillness, preserving our innocence for all time
August 1, 2010
onethumbpoetry 