Fabrice Poussin

Daring adventurers run upstairs in ecstasy
the mountain of their shiny futures to be climbed
with no worries of bruised little egos
dresses torn, and vermillion scratches.

They race to a room full of games, colors and music
elbow to elbow, boy to boy, girls closer to the one who stands
conversations galore erupt of adventures and memories
for these people barely ten springs into this world.

But she sits her head poised on a thoughtful palm
legs crossed in the theater of a scene she once rehearsed
her pulse too remembers when she giggled with
angels now young ladies in the making.

Ankles beating the long skirts, fists making their way
into a darkness they know well backstage
in a place where they can be anyone for a moment
and she sees them disappear into an imagined mist.

They vanish as they grow into another chrysalis
never to be scolded again, free from the womb
wrinkles cry in a mixture of joy and distress
little years gone, she stays in her recollections.