The Child in the Tree View Room

  

The problem child

had a sky to contend with
outside the window of her tree-view room…mostly
it was a pale
and moonlit view she’d been slowly growing into.
The trees were blue on a harvest night, white
with a star-frost in June,
and the problem child
asked the starlings to save her
drops of the morning’s
frothy dew. More so in May when
the cuckoo’s spit
marked the day break
on the grass;
and then the problem child
would ask
for the sun
to rise a little slower;
she was always the first to know
of a snow shower
that would keep her from school
and to this day
she is still the morning sky’s
fool; from the window of the tree-view room
for a wish
or a dream to keep…
See, the problem child
was rarely asleep; she’d have
missed too much –
the chance to be born
of nature’s
invisible lust
for glory, and counselled by fairies
at the dawn of the world,
to watch a golden-orange rust
creep across her curls, the leaves and seasons;
and the privilege to learn a thousand
early morning reasons
to forget

she should not be up.