Bildungsroman

I think that tree used to be taller,

Pine spindles extended and reaching, reaching

Toward the terrifying expanse of eternity above.

The lake was deeper, more cavernous,

A few feet away on my tiptoes,

Before my weight gave way to endless baptism.

When I was small, this place was large,

And these halls echoed like castles;

My father was my Dad, not a Doctor.

I breathe now, and the cycle continues,

What was two seconds ago is as distant

As child’s laughter and mom’s perfume.

Give me a bookshelf, and a theatre, and a crown to create;

Give me birth and resurrection; give me a future I can fit inside,

Away from the lake that taught me to swim,

And the pine tree that taught me to climb.

I know all this now – I don’t need the answers,

Haven’t I earned my degree?

Here, with zero degrees of separation between I and her,

The woman I am and the girl I was, holding “me” like water.

Hold that girl to your lips and drink,

Consuming sacrament into adulthood:

She’s ready; I’m ready; I’m ready.