Beside the Stream

January 5, 2011
By Victoria Cordisco BRONZE, Clinton Corners, New York
Victoria Cordisco BRONZE, Clinton Corners, New York
1 article 0 photos 0 comments

Kneel down beside the stream
Clear as crystal it seems
But I know it’s real
Nothing that anyone could ever steal
There are the trees like always
Ragged and twisted as all days
As a duck floats by
The water sighs
Forms ripples to demonstrate its emotion
But I cannot see myself through this commotion
Swatting the bird to leave
It’s finally myself I see
Or is it?
This is why I come here, this is why I sit
For the self I see is an alternative me
The alter ego I could never be
No blonde curly hair, no bright green eyes
Just dark purple irises that follows straight lines
The other me does not exist
Not in this water, however much I persist
She waves at me with a fair skinned hand
And I return the wave as our relationship expands
She says it’s ok, that I’m just like her but different
I tell her it makes no sense, and she replies that I’m definitely persistent,
Our conversation continues on,
Our words keep flowing, nothing’s wrong
Until my head pops up as I hear someone come closer
I splash her away to ban the risk of exposure
“What are you doing? I thought I heard someone talking over here.”
“Nothing,” I say, trying to be clear.
“Then who belongs to the voices I heard? I know it was not a dream.”
“I don’t know,” I say, “Maybe it was just the stream.”

The author's comments:
This piece was inspired by a picture I choose from many options my teacher had offered to my class. It was very serene in black and white with a giant wall behind so all that could be seen was the stream, the trees along it, a duck, and a path behind it.

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