EIGHT

EIGHT

it was just the right age
when the wind was surely
strong enough to lift me skyward
and magazine ladies with parasols
were the epitome of a plush life

the entire world consisted of a mile
of charming houses and abundant flowers
familiarity was a comfort and a curse
the restlessness of wanderlust crept in
compelling me to try to meet the setting sun
instead opting for the safety of the known

i watched enthralled as mother painted her lips
and carefully slid silk stockings up her legs
the dangly earrings clipped to her ears
captivated me with their every sway

little girls like me wanted to be her

father was tall and strong and handsome
with his pressed suits and crisply tied ties
his scolding voice could jar me to my toes
yet his laughter and love were plentiful

little girls like me wanted to marry him

sisters were alternately loathed and cherished
the best of playmates and harshest of critics
a constant presence or annoyance in the house
but a welcome addition to neighborhood games
of kick the can and red rover and tag

it was just the right age of innocence and wonder
just the right time...
to be eight

~nikki~