If I could go anywhere, I would go to Carmel, on the coast of California, in the year 1990. My family would be staying at a small condo by the beach. It would be foggy and misty. I would be six years old, and my mom would be turning 32. We would be there to celebrate her birthday, and I would be laughing and twirling and calling her an old lady.
I would then take my six-year-old self on a trip around the world. I’d stop in Delhi, Dhaka, Beijing, Tokyo . . . Manila, Sydney, Cape Town, Istanbul . . . Bucharest, Athens, Rome, Lisbon . . . Moscow, Santiago, Pell City, Montreal . . .
I would have the ability to be invisible when I wanted to — so I could just SEE.
I would be able to look at the world through the eyes of a six-year-old and a near thirty-year-old simultaneously.
I would tell her that 32 isn’t so old, after all (ten days ’til 30!), but I would thank her, too. For it is only through the eyes of a child that we can really identify what’s wrong with the world, and, more importantly, how to fix it.
Old woman scowling —
cyclist riding by.
Does she know how soft I am?
How high my heart can fly?
Cold cyclist growling —
drivers flying by.
Do I know the love they hold?
The dreams that make them sigh?