There was a child went forth
There was a child went forth every day,
And the first object she look'd upon, that object she became,
And that object became part of her for the day or a certain part of the day,
Or for many years or stretching cycles of years.
The sad beauties leaning into the water bacame part of the child,
And the deep gray water, carrying the signs of the past in its powerful arms,
And the well-known smell of mud, and the breathing sand and the corn and
worms, and the dirty hands
of the old fishers,
And the small ants and the small birds, the fresh grass and the hugging trees and the smell
of the yellow bells,
And the old bridge, and the blurrung lights, and the monotoneous sound in the air, and floating,
up and down, up and down,
And the secret island, and the tiny froggs with their black stripes, all
became part of her.
The fourth floor, the annoying cars and the brouzing motor bikes, the old grey houses and
brand new red ones,
And the small streets and the big streets, the university and the old theater,
And the colorful excitement every Saturday morning and the large swimming pool with big
windows,
The newspaper woman at the corner, the people pressing their noses against the windows and the
smell
of fresh baked bread,
The twins who always cheated and the soccer boys, and the old comic seller on the street, and
the sky blue bike,
with the white seat
The coffee smell and the smoky living rooms and her pre-school teacher in the high boots,
And the lost dogs on the street, they all became part of the child.
Her mother, intelligent, emotional, carrying, serious and smiling, with warm
hands and soft eyes,
Her father, smart, funny, surprising, motivating, full of compromise and never boring,
Her sister, the other half, the understanding, her friend, became part of her,
made her believe in herself and in them.
They cried laughing and laughed crying, dreamed with open eyes and tricked
reality.
Sitting in the small red car, she and her sister in the back, singing with the
tape,
while the world rushed by,
The border officers frightening her, after five hours waiting in the line,
And the mountains, the clean roads, the autobahn,
led her to a new home.
The strange faces starring at her, trying to communicate in a funny language,
The swans that waited for her in the park after school,
And then again many boxes on a van heading south, to the small village
with the huge cherry trees,
The big festivals where the whole village came together, the singing lanterns
on cold December nights, and then again packing and leaving,
all these taught her hope.
Talking on the bench in front of the old church, the white giants inviting her
to climb
to the top,
Cooking with friends and playing cards until the next morning,
Feeling weightless while he led her in the new white dress, sweaty, exhausted, happy,
The gorgeous feeling when she solved a problem, the feeling of standing
at the top of the world,
Lying in the lake, dreaming, feeling the slight kiss of the sun,
The piano concerto in the old castle, and sitting in front of the picture
fascinated,
Writing long letters, reading through the night flying to the sky,
How high could she get before burning her wings?
These became part of the child who went forth every day, and who now goes, and
will always go forth every day.
Maja Temerinac
Fort Wayne,Indiana 1998
inspired by Walt Whitman
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