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The line between we

A cool, crisp, autumn day.

Hot chocolate awaiting and apple cake.

With trees the colors of fire burning,

Walking home from school

in her own little world but not alone

as her mother waits for her at home.

Two girls pass by

With blonde curly hair, crackers in their hands and a twinkle in their eyes,

they explore the train as it moves on by.

And alone I sit on a train,

as the barren landscape passes by.

Alone I sit

next to people like me,

or so it is as I perceive.

Another place I don’t belong

and yet accepted in this song.

A harmony, adds a sprinkle of beauty.

With a constant struggle to keep my note

when I hear others singing beautiful tones.

“It’s better when we’re not all the same.”

Says the mother to her babe.

“We create multiple tri-part harmonies,

that ring like church bells on Christmas morning.”

Jolly and round, they stop by.

For an evening cap and to say goodbye.

We sit in a circle laughing and talking.

And joy sweeps through me, with love in our eyes.

“I want this” I tried to say.

You heard “that”, I guess it’s okay.

It’s how it is, life and speech.

I say blue and you hear green.

No matter how far you run or where you go.

The misunderstanding remains afloat.

It’s hard. I don’t like it. It’s tiring. It hurts.

But it’s life, so I accept it as it is.

“Relax”, says the mom, “it’s okay to fight.

Not everything has to be perfectly in line.”

It was here I learned about wonder bread,

much to my mother’s discontent.

But in the end, she said "okay"

because we cannot all

be the same.

You know those paintings by Seurat, which are made of colorful dots?

Never mixing colors, but still creating a plot?

Pointillism, I like that name.

A story all together, yet not the same.

I want this, I want that.

But which do I choose?

The one for me

or the one for you?

Not all,

for I fear I will not last.

But to decide, now that’s a task.

“Sleep child, it’s time to rest.

Sleep and dream of places you haven’t been.”

The grass is green in Germany and the States,

Perhaps not in Spain, but it must grow all the same.

And yet different somehow, fed by a different fruit.

The flavor changes from root to root.

And it’s here when she reaches her hand into a jar and pulls out several crackers.

Then with her princess dress flowing and a crown on her head

she runs away to under her bed,

where her sister waits with a white bedsheet on

to share the treasure her sister brings along.

From past to present and into the future

the heart connects and draws a line

between the places it’s been,

the passion it has

and the people it finds.

And the tail of a shooting star passes through the sky,

Beautiful and yet undefined.

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