Saturday, April 16, 2011

Claire

So today's second poem: last night I got to hang out at the lively abode of my friend Weave, including an extended period of play with her five year old, Claire. This is a poem about that.

Claire

She looks into your face
until you look back...
and into your eyes until
she sees the pupils widen
as you think, "My God,
what a beautiful child."

Satisfied that she's been
properly acknowledged as
part fairy princess and
part Queen, she says. "let's play."
And so, under her spell,
you do.

She is firmly in command:
"You play with the horsey now.
Now I will play with the horsey."
She lets me wear her green tiara,
but only for a little while.
It is hers, after all.

When she's not looking,
I let a few tears come to my eyes
for the day when some evil soul
questions her confidence and
refuses to see her beauty.

You are the rarest of rare creatures, Claire...
a child self-possessed and unafraid
of the power your charm can command.
Please don't change.
The world needs you to look it in the eye
until it acknowledges your beauty.

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