Thursday, July 16, 2009

Dreaming of a Better World

.
.
A Better World
.
.
It was one of those lovely autumn afternoons
Where the rains of the day before
Had given way to washed pale blue skies and sun
The trees still had enough leaves remaining
To provide some more serious raking work
But she was out in the yard
Running from patches of shade
To bright green sunlit grass
Blond hair unbrushed
Brilliant in the golden radiant light
I stood still as one transfigured
.
She had one of those pink bottles in her hand
Full of soap solution
In her other hand the plastic ring attached to the cap
She was blowing bubbles as best she could
Five years old and dancing her private dance
Screwing up her face and blowing
For all she was worth
No bubbles coming stamping her foot
Shaking her butt in five year old frustration
Dipping the ring in the soap again
This time blowing softly
Her lips pursed as if for a kiss
And a long stream of beautifully round bubbles erupts
She shakes her hair with joy
Running after the floating swirling worlds of light
Pure magnificent five year old delight
.
Then looking up
Seeing me at the window
Leaning with forehead rested on raised hand
She stands up tall
Throws her shoulders back
Raises her right hand to right eyebrow
And gleefully shouts, “Garde à vous !”
.
And my heart expired my heart went out
I only had one wish one terrible dreadful futile wish
I wished I could have offered her another world
Ten times more beautiful
And a thousand times kinder than this one
Something akin to the radiant orbs she launched
Unleashed from her bottle of soap
Upon the autumn breeze
.

10 comments:

Buskitten said...

Oh wow! Did you write that Owen? Is it about your daughter? What an achingly beautiful piece of writing it is.....
I think it's what we all wish for, a better world. x

louciao said...

What parent can't resonate with the emotion behind the wish that the world was a safer, more joyous & peaceful place to have invited our children into. I nearly didn't have a child for that very reason, but am forever grateful that I so selfishly gave up that plan because becoming a mother taught me the truth of selfless love.

The images you have painted with your prose poem brings the scene to life. I see it so clearly that I am there. It's lovely.

the watercats said...

gut wrenchingly beautiful.... Becoming a parent brings out so many turmoils within us, the world has never been good enough for generations of parents I'm sure and it still won't be good enough for our grandchildren.. and so the circle continues and beautiful moments are written and re-written......

AmyR said...

Really gorgeous and descriptive...you've created some beautiful images.

Adrian LaRoque said...

eheheh...great post Owen!

Marguerite said...

What a beautiful poem, Owen! You are a very gifted writer and have a way with words that is so unique and enchanting. Have a happy weekend!

Shaista said...

I absolutely love this poem - such a wonderful story, and such a fantastic rhythm. This is why my mother did not want to have children - she worried about the world she was bringing them into. I'm lucky she changed her mind :)
Shaista

Margaret Pangert said...

Do you know what's lovely about this story? It's that you resisted in helping, demonstrating how to make the bubbles. She was successful all on her own. To be in a better world, to withstand the harsh world this can be, you need to pile up a plethora of little successes. Remember how frustrating it was for her at first? And how she learned to try something else, and how radiant she was in knowing she could manager her own destiny? that military "attention" to you was the expression of her pride. it could not possibly have meant as much if a parent or neighbor or friend had shown her "the right way." You're a great parent, Owen.

Roxana said...

oh, it is so beautiful - the simplicity of the tone, the images, everything so true and vivid - i see her in all her golden beauty and purity and boldness and joy. thank you so much for that, i will never forget this image.

this scene especially breaks my heart:

Then looking up
Seeing me at the window
Leaning with forehead rested on raised hand
She stands up tall
Throws her shoulders back
Raises her right hand to right eyebrow
And gleefully shouts, “Garde à vous !”

tricia said...

Hauntingly beautiful.