She climbs the stairs, she reaches high
So many new words to try
Her baby lips are asking why
Her eyes are watching everything
Never missing anything
The whole world is her plaything
No grasping here, she’s no Macbeth
She has no concept of death
Adventure calls with each new breath
When innocence is driving you
No guile in what you do
Is hope enough to see you through?
The child in me awakes
My trust blooms once again
Tentatively
I reach out my toes
And dip them in the water
This morning, as I scanned through the headlines, this headline caught my eye: This 6-Year-Old Survivor’s Story May Be the Most Intense from Newtown Yet – Politics – The Atlantic Wire. As I thought about that little girl and all she survived, a poem started to form in my mind…
She played dead
Escaped inside her head
All around her everything
Turned blood-red
Her memory defaced
Can’t be erased
This horror is
Her breathing space
She survived
Til help arrived
Now any sentiment
Just seems contrived
Foggy nose-print, cold wet window
Water streaming on the pane
Mommy, mommy when will I be
When will I be all grown up?
Thunder booming, lightning flashes
Years streaming down the drain
Mommy, mommy when will I be
When will I be all grown up?
High heels clopping, puddles splashing
Runny makeup leaves a stain
Mommy, mommy when will I be
When will I be all grown up?
Under blankets, mindless shivers
Waiting for the storm to wane
Mommy, mommy when will I be
When will I be all grown up?
Long day over, still apartment
Living in adult mundane
Mommy, mommy when will I be
When will I be all grown up?
i wanna be like a kid again
climb a tree with skinned knees again
To see through clear eyes again
flying free on a swing again
i wanna be like a kid again
The Wisdom of Gavroche 