verity.

she aspired to be mysterious
when she became a grown up

with the soundtrack of a sleuth and the power
of clever and deductive reasoning
her intellect would overshadow all residual prettiness
that they said she inherited from her mother

the little girl in dirty jeans, ponytail and sneakers
her father's tattered books under her arm
would blend into the city swarms

(already she could mingle with the backyard murder of crows
and squish beneath the ferns with a knot of toads)

at family reunions, relatives said that she
could become anything she wanted and
they would chuckle when she told them
she wanted to be an archeologist
a fighter pilot, or a famous architect

she would uncover history, make history
build something from the ground up

(she would leave that town)

so tightly holding a number two pencil
reading each question suspiciously
she filled in the rows of little circles
her lungs stretched, waiting to find out
who she was supposed to become

when her scores were added and totaled
she frowned when she was told
that she was an artist


© 9.10.12 heather brager