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Purple Wildflowers MAG
Every warm summer day she could
Open her eyes as the clock chimed seven
Slip on her flip-flops
Shuffle down the hall and out to the porch
Gently tiptoe down the stairs
And dash to the tiny grassy corner
Where the purple wildflowers grew
Holding her breath
In hope that they had magically blossomed overnight.
And on the magical day they bloomed
She would pluck them carefully and fix
Beautiful bouquets of violet buds
For her mother.
During the day she would
Sketch the world in colored chalk on the pavement and
Watch in amazement as
The gray squirrels cracked their acorns
Climb upon her swing and pump her legs till she flew
High above the clouds like a bird and
Could feel the air growing chilly
As she reached unheard of altitudes.
She marveled at brilliant blue feathers
Left carelessly on the soft grass by their owners and
Enjoyed collecting sparkly quartz
Worth more than diamonds to her eyes.
On rainy days she
Splashed in puddles wearing her
Sunny yellow rainboots,
Laughing at timid earthworms come out to play.
And then she would watch fiery leaves
Fall from their delicate perches
On the branches of towering maples
And reluctantly would return to school.
She turned thirteen that year.
Quickly learned to bow to the Gap entrance instead of the trees
Pondering pictures of anorexic models rather than
The shapes of snowflakes,
Worried about her clothes more than
What pictures the clouds were making
Giggled over handsome celebrities and
Forgot to wish on the first star at night.
And then school was out once again.
She went to bed late and woke at one every day
Gossiped on the telephone and shopped for useless trinkets
Frowned at the sun and turned up the air conditioning,
Scorned her family and Scowled at rainy days.
That was the year she missed
The purple wildflowers