Wednesday, September 2, 2009

Our Own Storybook

For My Son, Callum.

Before I close the storybook tonight,
Let's paint a picture now of what we read.
All the colors that exist in sight,
Or all the ones that don't exist instead.

Possibility is limitless to you,
Of that I will make sure, don't ever doubt.
Pursuing whatever you may feel is true,
Whatever makes you laugh, or dance about.

So many things I want to paint for you,
We must invent the colors to begin.
The greens, the blues, the red, the yellow hue,
The unique and rosy paleness of your skin.

They don't know the magic that we know.
For I have taught since you first began,
Outside your eyes the choices always grow,
Hold the paintbrush steady in your hand!

A wealth of trees, of sky, of nature green,
Water rushing beyond some twisted scape.
Pages upon pages is the scene,
The storybook where you and I escape.

I'll be your co-artist, and help you trace the lines,
The boundaries through which your days will rush.
Until my own are gone, the times
When my withered hand can't hold the brush.

This story is forever, always you,
It's pages will brittle-crack, but remain there
Until the days when you yourself are old
Your eyes all smiles, your head so white of hair.

You'll pass it on with care to your own child,
Removing the splinters along your way,
And begin to paint again; and all the while,
Knowing that this moment cannot stay.

Together you will carry on our story,
Amazing tales, even after I am gone.
But go back a page, or two or three,
And you will see my character lives on.

©Teri Drake-Floyd

(this was me)

I am
misanthropic, catastrophic,
formulaic woman
gigantic in spirited form,
the soles are worn,
I've walked many roads
kissed many toads
a frog or two,

I'm the things that never existed,
your version of me twisted.
I stand beyond the cliche -
I stand a little taller
every day.

A brief break in the monotony
I try to be
What I will be -
Its never easy
to balance on the tops of your feet,
your labels sticking on so well,
as if glued,
slapped on so crude.

I never knew
(you never knew)
(that this was me)
that this was you.