Poem- The Girl Who Told Stories from the Sky


Writing

There once was a girl
With curly blonde hair
That hung in loose ringlets
That had a habit of running away.

Her eyes were toward the sky
And her back on the earth
She watched the clouds sway
coming together,
with a certain feeling
And then leaking out into the blue vastness.

In those afternoons, she saw things.

Her world was the not the world of
Multiplication tables
And 67%s
And try harder
And work longer
And do more
And maybe
Just maybe
Your effort will appear enough.

No.

In those afternoons, she saw stories in the sky.
Each character, a mystery, revealed to her
through the flavor of a cloud’s edge.
The drama, unfolding in the gathering
of what had recently seemed separate.

She loved how, upon another moments passing,
the villain was really the magician
the mother, really a daughter,
the mouse, really a cat.

She imagined what story, were the perspectives switched,
The sky might tell about her.

She knew that the sky did not see
Her smallness.
Her hand me down dress
Her disappointed teacher

To the sky,
she was a warrior, spinning in a mosaic dress,
adorning the world with the dance of her fiery spirit.
She was a swirl of color, a force to be reckoned with,
An igniter, an alchemist, a shapeshifter.
A visionary.

In those afternoons,
She was God and Ant.
Puppeteer and playwright.
The seer and the seen.