Bold Little Sun

By Natalia Szura

oh but she is two years old everything and ever more rolled into one bold little sun

oh but she is four years old singing songs while she skips living life etched on Death’s blacklist Circe’s magic flows through her fingertips oh but she is six years old Shakespeare with a crayon, she can write riveting stories that awe her missives go straight to God oh but she is eight years old Cinderella with a choice, a capella she conducts life with a soprano voice Hell makes less noise

oh but she is ten years old smells of a fisherman’s world the world is her oyster but she’s busy mapping the way to the pearl oh but she is twelve years old like a city at night with all the twinkling lights she effortlessly glows thinking about what color to paint her toes oh but she is fourteen years old Alice out of the rabbit hole, she patches the holes gathers her tells and tells them to go oh but she is sixteen years old good like a daughter, somebody ought to have caught her at least by now she wonders why but mostly wonders how oh but she is eighteen years old grieves what lies beyond her spirit stored in pictures, where she grins, all teeth but she thinks the little girl is gone oh but she is many many years old she looks up the sky and knows in Winter the sun is farther but it’s not one bit less bold