Listen to Me, My Child

— A Poem to Five-Year-Old Me

It was a time of fresh dream and lovely fantasy:

You embraced the sunlight, the sky, and the moist soil, 

You heard the murmuring river, 

Rushing joyfully across the canyon; 

The waving emerald tapestry of trees, 

Your flowing red dress, and the silver lock ’round your neck

Shining, tinkling with crisp and timid sounds;

The colorful beads on your hat like an ancient pattern

Hanging around your furry maroon hair, dancing to the wind.

O look at your curious shining eyes,

Searching, wondering, imagining —

You, the fairy daughter of Nature, 

Plucking red roses petals and humming tunes,

Found the magic and joy of existence,

Passing a flame of light through your angelic smile,

A soul as white and clean 

As intact new snow on a pine.

But listen to me, my child, 

One day there will be 

A frown between your brows

A sigh from your lips

A tear in your eyes

A bruise in your heart. 

For here is a world of human imperfection

When magic can grow dark, red roses blood your fingers with thorns,

When the silver lock of safety tangles your dancing limbs,

And a gray cloud shadows over the scarlet dress. 

Listen to me, my child, there is

Something to hold on to and keep,

Something you were blessed with when you walked into the world:

That your mind is full of colorful stories to tell, 

Your imagination will shelter you

When the world is too cold to bear. 

And then will you revisit and embrace,

Those rainbow dreams of a girl,

Who sees not the grief, but the hope and love of the world.