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My Young Renoir Who

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My Young Renoir Who

Olivia, who can never decided whether to wear her thick dark chocolate hair curly
Or strait
Who comes from comes from Native American roots
Tsalagi, Tsa-la-gi, Aniyunwiya
Who lives off of 100º Celsius peppermint tea and breakfast tacos
Who eats sleeps lives architecture
Is always late when her hair is strait
Is always tired
Who asks “How do you spell?”
And calls me honey
Who means olives
Who’s 5’10 is mistaken for my baby sitter
Is day dreaming
Who orders chai at Starbucks
Is my very own “brown eyed girl” and “gossip girl”
Is an iPod
Is a dimmer switch
Is rubber cement
Who says, “Mom’s fault”
Who is quilted textile
A vinyl player
Is made of Auto-CAD and Aderol – Shhh!
Cookie dough and the Guggenheim
Who is a young Renoir
Moves her hand like a silk worm
Is a shattered stain-glass window
Is on East coast time
Will never get over her hair dilemma
Will always have an excuse.





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