Sixteen years ago today, a summer’s day
much like this one, in fact, a carbon copy,
the ink a little smudged and the paper faded –
on this day, a young girl sat by herself on a hill.
Her milk chocolate hair melted in the sun
like the popsicle dripping down her hand
into prismatic assortments of color on the grass.
She lay back, still as her growing body could be
and lived in that moment of calm, seeing herself
whizzing forward in a blur towards eternity.
She looked at the clouds she could not name
and peered at the bugs she could not classify.
She wrote a monosyllabic poem about the day,
and the wonder was thick enough to eat.
Sixteen years later a girl still sits on a hill
a different hill, but the day is just the same.
The milk chocolate hair turned dark, but it still melts
under the heat of the same sun that burned before.
The names and classifications of nature are known
but she drinks in the same wonder and forgets lunch,
fingers smudging the ink that write these words.