I still see water lilies gliding in my bowl
of cereal in the morning, and the rain
laughing like my old dog Max’s laughing;
whose philosophy was sunshine,
it all depends on where you lay.

The Sherlock Twins next door;
blonde babes that surely now
make their daddy cry, would wake early
and drape the Technicolor Crayola Cloak
over the sidewalk. On my way to the woods
I’d walk that painted film and witness movie magic;
I’d play the hero and ride the horse
all the way pass the neighborhood to the tree line,
wage war with my birch and maple foes
and when the climax was reached
and the crescendo would sound
my archenemy would emerge from out the
algae pool and strip my face from my skull,
leave me bloodied upon the battle ground.
The wind would rustle the fallen.
I’d think of my locker-room maiden and
her hair of flaxen sweet.
I’d turn to my shadow sidekick and joke
of my hands upon her apple breasts, lips buried in
her nether regions. With our boyish jests
I’d pantomime the bedroom courtship and how
I’d woo such a supple flower.
I’d strike a match against a stone and
snuff it with my fingers.
The repetition of this act turned to a religion;
with every burn my hands turned more callous.
With every flame pinched out,
I wholly believed I was turning lead into gold.

Through the act of young alchemy
my future began to unfold.
A magician in the making; transmuting
her imagination into reality,

into a world of her own.

© Copyright A. Marie Kaluza 2014

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