terrypetersen

Let your hopes, not your hurts, shape your future. (Robert H. Schuller)

CUT—

The little girl stands
on her imaginary stage
made of ordinary maroon carpet
on an everyday Thursday afternoon.

A popular song drifts 
into the living room
from the kitchen where Mommy cooks,
and scrubs the floor.

She complains about how quickly
three kids get it dirty again.
The girl listens to the music and
mimics the trills, the rises and falls,

and emotions in the melody,
her gentle vibrato promising a
clear soprano voice one day.
She would have added gestures

for her make-believe audience,
but Mommy appears at the doorway
wielding her wooden spoon.
So-who-do-you-think-you-are?

Mommy turns away without striking.
Yet, the girl hears the warning
and retreats into the dark, silent spaces
between the lace curtains and window.

The song will not disappear.
She hears it inside her head
and saves the sound
for a safer moment

when she will lead her 
children to follow dreams,
write, discover subtleties,
laugh, cry, or simply be.