There was a child went forth every day;
And the first object she saw she became;
And that object became part of her for the day, or a certain part of the day, or many years, or stretching cycles of years.
The beautiful sound of music was heard by this child. The different voices spoke from objects all around her. The songs the birds sang; the rhythmic beat of the grasshoppers. The music that rang out of th radios. The sweet melody of Jazz, the spoken word of Hip Hop, the good 'ole Blues became part of this child.
My grandfather and grandmother were my mother and father. Raising a younf child destined to be somene. Each gray hair upon there head revealed years of wisdom and truth poured into the mind of this child.
Elementary school came and went. Becoming best buddies with my classmates. Not a care in the world; except what time lunch and recess started. Starting with ABC's, 123's then advancing to addition and subtraction. Learning concepts to prepare for life became apart of this child.
The naptimes, storytimes, and building blocks were all gone. It was time to get serious now that middle school had started. The intensity picked up as work begun to get harder. But the fun never left, as the child continued to learn and grow. As quick as she had started, Middle school was over. All she had were the memories which became a part of the child.
Four years left of school, such a long time. Well atleast that's what I thought when I started. Being a student athlete and a member of the band made it all go by so quick. She turned around one day and was no longer a freshman but a senior ready to graduate. She had learned how quickly time flew and to be responsible for her own actions; this became a part or the child.
The streets themselves, and the facades of houses, the goods in the windows, vehicles, teams, the heavy plank'd wharves- the huge crossing at the ferries.
The village on the highland, seen from afar as sunset- the river between, shadoss, aureola and mist, the light falling on roofs and gables of white brown, three miles off, the schooner near by, sleepily drooping down the tide- the little boat slack tow'd astern, the hurrying tumbling waves, quick- broken crests, slapping, the strata of color'd clouds, the long bar of maroon- tint, away solitary by itself- the spread of Purity it lies motionless in, the horizon's edge, the flying sea cow, the fragance of salt marsh and shore mud; these became part of that child who went forth, everyday, and now who now goes, and will always go forth everyday.
That child who went forth and became an adult. Educated. Black. Woman. Blinded from the start. But who knows what lies were told when she set out for the truth. Discovering her INNER G, her torn and broken ROOTS. A degree just allowed her to be slightly different but still bound. Her rose grew from more than concrete, on stolen, blood stained ground. She was a child who went forth, but became a woman wondering why? Her history was trickery, indeed she had lived a lie. So she began to unlearn and relearn. It all started with her perm. Her locs and nature begun to become a part of this woman.....
The child who went forth...
