A Poem in Three Parts
by Ardweden

I

We shrieked with delight
Running through the basement
Soft hot feet slapping the
Hard cold floor, until you stopped
	And pointed--
A blue rug we had to cross.
You jumped, cleared, and
Beckoned me.
But I took off wrong
	And fell, screaming
Into the rapids--
Wet, wild, pushing, pulling,
Rushing this way and that,
All around, yanking me along
	Rope.
You tug, haul me up, save me.
Parents say you have to go.
We pout, hug, say our
goodbyes.  See you later.
	Thank you.

II

How do I approach you?
Are you the same, under
That new skin?
These questions burn my mind.

You've changed--
If not into a butterfly, then
Something equally colorful--
Gradually, before me.

You became new.
Friends, taste, appearance,
Behavior.  All different.
I did not.

The braided trademark pigtails
Your mother made you wear
Cut short,
Dyed many vibrant colors.

No longer are you eager
To visit, play... no.
We "hang out", friends--family
That don't know each other anymore.

I dance in my imagination,
I always have.
You refuse to dance,
You've changed.

III

You dove headfirst
Into your river of color,
You laugh as you follow
The eddys and swirls
Against the current.

The many, ever-changing hues
Cling to you--
They clutch your hair,
Bead your eyelashes,
And dye your fingers.
You love it.

And as you swim
Perilously close to the rapids,
Waves waiting to pull you in,
Remember that I stand
On the bank, rope in hand,
Willing to pull you out.