Ode of the Born Wanderer

I have been walking alone

Since my eyes made

That ancient, crucial step—

To stare out my window

With longing.

The pink bows on the wall

And an over-hurried mother—

I was the most capable of being independent

So, I was—

Never gave me enough comfort,

Never made me want to stay.

I did not, when looking at those trees

Blanketing a sprawling sidewalk,

Dream of running away from

The small white house where I was,

Already, solitary—

I longed to walk away.

Once, I finally did—

I packed my girlish suitcase

With a few clothes and crackers,

Lowered myself down the blue-carpeted stairs,

And entered into personal omnipotence.

But you see

When I did reach the end of the street—

When the gravity and insubstantiality of being a child

Toddling through an unpitying adult world unveiled itself—

I turned back.

Yet part of me—

If not all—

Wishes I had kept walking,

Just to see how long it would have taken

For someone to come looking for me,

For someone to see me.