when admiring gemstones
placed in the locket of my life,
what light will catch upon
the jewel of seventh grade?
Will the laughter of friends remain
clear, voices pure with spirit?
Or instead, cast faint lilac shadows
and hum as a drowsy bee?
Will a play's memorized lines
remain, as I once was, in spotlight?
Or, like a fading program, turn amber.
Its cast of children now grown.
Will the memory of band be diluted
to soothing taps of the conductor's baton?
Hours of practice reduced
to the smooth clloness of flute pressed to lip?
I am young now, yet insightful enough
to know that lines of lockers
and grade seven secrets
will soften in the twilight of time...
heartaches, no more than a blush.
2012, Ainsley Chernek. All rights reserved.