There will be a time
on a late summer bed
when a kid will ask me
how I spent my years as a young girl.
I would freeze my two mother-like hands
then maybe give a few chuckle
here and there.
Laugh about a few raindrops I've touched.
Frown about the antique dolls and them
highschool accolades
still hanging around my spring collections.
Oh,
and maybe shed a few distant cries
as I sway myself
back into my oblivious past
To where I used to flutter
from my first friend,
to my middle school graduation,
to my first love,
to entering college,
and of course,
to the people whose relationship I've decided to keep.
Despite all this explanation
a mere kid would not understand
what miraculous journey I have created with my own set of
given and earned privileges.
Or so I presumed
When this kid grows to be a man
He will understand the miraculous journey
I have told him many years ago.
He, too, will make one himself.
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