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Rated: E · Poetry · Activity · #2241096
Children often play by acting out experiences they've witnessed on tv or in real life ...
Child's Play

I remember it so well now,
the epic stories of great
men spoken to me through
books of learning, the
struggles of power within
the looking glass of the
powers that be. How it
was drilled into us so
many times, that to be
a robber baron of oil or
railroads actually took
daring, bravery, smarts
and no small amount of
pure greed. The phrase
'an honest day's work'
sometimes reverberated in
one's mind as we sought
to relate to such wealth
as somehow not belonging
to us because ... well ...
it wasn't that we lacked
an imagination or that the
keen eyes of thieves that
knew every angle there
was to commit the kinds
of highway robbery - no,
but we explained it away
by saying we had faith
in that Higher Power that
knew our every thought,
our every deed and dream.
Yet still, the movies and
advertisements begat more
wishfulness as we would
think that perhaps SOME
day there'd be a pretty
woman on our arm as we'd
stroll down red velvet
carpets past the persistent
blaze of flashbulbs as the
media called out our names
for a witty remark as we
self-importantly strode
past the mobs of lesser-
important folk ... but
dream we did thinking the
thoughts of building huge
ships or sleek rockets or
fast jets that could bring
us to our most private
islands were remanded in
our psyche for a time
to come ...

And in the broad daylight
of summer's song, a small
girl not yet ten years old
sings as she plays, one
moment she stands in the
shelf of shallows, the
stream waters pushed and
pulled along a circuitous
path where she'd dammed up
the flow, forcing it to go
over the flat slate and into
a sort of small backwater
where the crayfish and the
minnows played among the
pebbles within the bay she
had created with her own
hands. Her home is a fine
castle, the entire portion
of it built of dried mud
and granite stone, complete
with moat and drawbridge of
sticks tied together with
dried dandelion stalks that
grew along the streambank.
Her boats were made from
the cattail rushes, twisted
and tied together after
having been dried first,
then soaked once more and
magically made pliable to
boot. Her armada made now
ready, she sights her enemy
among her people - the
nimble water spiders - that
skate across the water as
if by some evil miracle.
She launches mud and rock
using her handmade slingshot
that misses the spiders -
but not by much. Driven out
of the cove, they depart
and immediately after, she
rejoices in becoming yet again
the emancipator of her people.
Her building now done, her
armada recalled, her war
complete and victorious,
the young child takes leave
of her world beneath the Sun
and walks home atop a bed
of grasses she had left atop
of the mud to keep her feet
clean before she entered
her family kitchen.

What's done is done.

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