As
a child I was adept
at
slipping my eyes out of focus,
making
the headlights and taillights
on
35W at night
into
strings of pearls and rubies.
On
a sunny windy day
I
could turn
the
waves of Lake Harriet
into
a mass of diamonds,
and
I conjured pearls
out
of rainy evening streetlights
(though
on foggy mornings
I
preferred opals.)
I
sat easily with the fairies
disguised
as dust motes
and
in bed at night
I
contemplated
the
kaleid0scope
in
my head,
fingertips
pressed against eyelids,
moving color,
moving light.
I
was a master of light—
not
once did I recognize
or
question my power.
Not once did I lose
my
fear of the dark.
