Hidden Talents

Hidden Talents

There was a child went forth every day,
And the first object he look’d upon, that object he became,
And that object became part of him for the day, or a certain part of the day,
Or for many years, or stretching cycles of years.

Or I did try to become, anyway, but success isn't easy to find.
When I was younger, I felt like a failure. As I grew older,
I saw I wasn't the only one trying to figure out who I am.
That was a comforting thought.

I was five when we finally planted ourselves in one place.
In West Palm, we were happy. And in the mornings,
My mom would sing while making sweet-smelling pancakes.
I sang Hannah Montana songs and she said to me,
"Que bonito que canta mi muchachita!"
I sang, if only to hear that, but she only said it to see my smile too!

In my brother's room used to be black and white eagle.
Drawn with only a pencil. Being in the second grade,
What I had to use were big Crayolas, markers, and finger paint.
I drew blades of grass, purple flowers, a lame tree, and
A smiling yellow circle with sunglasses in the corner.
My stupid, little drawings are still kept in a folder by my mother,

In the years after that, I took up several different sports.
Dance and soccer, gymnastics and basketball, and
There are more, but I quit most of them after falling down once,

I stopped giving up at all the things I attempted at 12 years old.
That was when I began writing short stories,
Often including mysteries, adventures, and romances.
At this point, I didn't expect to be marvelous right off the bat,
So I practiced and practiced more and more.
Now influenced by monsters, aliens, and myths,
And places like 221 Baker Street and Camelot.

These became part of that child who went forth every day, and who
now goes, and will always go forth every day.