Anna McGillicuddy, 129 YinD
Eight hours, I’ve been painting on this canvas
A swirling world of colorful dreams
and yet somehow, now, there’s music
slowly seeping into it’s woven seams.
My heavy eyelids ignore my commands
Staying closed as if that would be able to keep
The paintbrush from slowing down, and so I try,
Try to hold onto my creations, thinking ‘sleep, sleep, sleep!’
My mind wanders to the races that woke me in the night
3am tin-roof sprints performed at top speed
Ain’t no rest for the wicked, they say
But did you know that the wicked is a two-bird stampede?
Peeling myself off my sweat-drenched sheets
I think of a story from long ago
A girl and those seven dwarves
Grumpy, I think, I’d like to get to know.
My mirror reveals the bags where I keep my paints
Green and blue swirls settled under my eyes
Waiting for the dip of that reverie paintbrush
And a bed, hoping I give into its cries.
I throw water on my face and notice the colors come to life;
Brown in my eyes and in the freckle on my chin,
Hue of red dusted on my cheeks and suddenly,
A watercolor masterpiece born on my pale, Irish skin.
I gather my things, courage amongst them,
And walk right out the front door,
Meeting the sounds of the loudspeaker
Music changing to words from my mayor, his daily chore.
“Remember to be kind, remember to laugh always”
A replacement for the muffled Thai I don’t understand,
Something I need to tell myself daily
A simple mantra, that in reality is so very grand.
I walk by some birds and they give me a nod –
Turn up my music, belt out the latest jam
A smile appears on my face as I shed Grumpy’s skin,
A metamorphosis of dwarves, if you will, and Happy, I am.
Because as I watch the sun rise while I walk down the street,
And notice all the signs that it has woken up the world
Like the birds that are chirping and the kids that are ‘hello-ing’
I think to myself, ‘I mean really, could there be a luckier girl?’