Oak Mountain Echoes

Rumplesdotter

Straw into gold? I never tried it with straw.
Leaves mostly; cobwebs, pebbles, grains of corn,
And water lilies–once water by mistake,
But it was enchanting, the ripple of liquid gold.
It isn’t just touching; the Midas touch is a myth.
There are nets and ropes to ravel, tracks to follow,
Foxes mixed up in it somehow, pyramids
Of glass, rose quartz, and the end of it done with words--
It probably can’t be done by accident.
At first I thought that everyone could do it.
My mother stared and frowned, then rubbed her eyes;
“Stop showing off,” she said. My father warned,
“If you brag, it will go away.” How did he know?
That’s how it happened. On the first day of school
They laughed at me–-a fool kid babbling mixed-up words,
Crying because I couldn’t get them right,
Words of crystal, amethyst, poplar bark,
Or mist like the edge of a cloud when it’s changing shape--
Such lovely words! I miss them more than the gold;
It was never there when you went back to look for it.

Page 17 (copyright 2001 Joanne R. Cage)

1st prize, State contest, 2000.