The little brown eyed girl
she sits
and gazes at the stars
safe in her mother's warm embrace
and possibly
she dreams about the world
and all the pretty things that she'll contribute
in 20 years or so when she's grown up.

Maybe she dreams of all of the things
that we've become too sheltered for
with our morning cups of coffee
with our ninetofives and mortgages
our pen to paper
get it done
succeed and that is all that matters
get yourself an education
lives.

And maybe maybe
the eyes of the stars stare back
and the ants of broken Eden
hold a small defiant breath
as this one child
she dashes all the rules
the regulations
the chemically controlled
and digitally mastered order.

Maybe she becomes some random lesbian
a vegan with 10 000 piercings
who's not afraid to say she loves her mom.
An aspiring painter who refuses caffiene
the 9th grade drop out who wouldn't smile back
who says what she thinks and thinks what she says

and we will sip that eternal coffee
but tear our eyes from the black and white newsprint
and stop just a moment to look at this unemployed punk
before swiping our endless supply of credit
to purchase our daily bounty of inanimate objects.
Before saying the routine "Thank yous"
and "Sorrys" and "Oh hi, how are yous?"
Before watching the next commercial break
or waiting in line like cattle
quietly being driven to the slaughter
while the minimum wage cashier replaces the robots
paperorplasticpaperorplasticpaperorplastic?

She will do nothing but smile
and gaze at the stars.

I will do nothing but thank her
for making me look.

11/13/2003

Author's Note: Thank you thank you thank you. To every person with the balls to just be. To every little girl that wants to be a firefighter. To every little boy with their arms around their favourite barbie. No, don't laugh. Thank you. You guys are actually living. The rest of us are just existing.

Posted on 11/13/2003
Copyright © 2024 Trisha De Gracia