I Sometimes Appear
by Barbara-Helen Hill

I sometimes appear as a grandmother.
strong, wise, gentle
but inside - a side not always seen
a scared little girl
on her first day of school
afraid she won't fit in,
someone will laugh;
for that is devastating you see
to be laughed at,
made fun of
when you are trying so hard
to believe that you're okay
that you're real
it's not a dream
or a nightmare
you wake from in terror

I sometimes appear
as if I have it all together
whatever It is
when actually It probably is together
and I'm the one that's fractured
like a skull on cold pavement
or a blue robin's egg
that just couldn't stay in that nest one more second
and lies shattered
I, if shaken - erupt
fizz out of that tiny constricted orifice
they call a smile
the planted grin
that covers that countenance of grace
to camouflage the fear
that controls all I do

I sometimes appear
as a fragile child
to melt and comply
with all the wishes
and not make waves
in the ocean of rules and regulations
to fallow paths set down
by all those who parade before me
say just do the job
receive the pat on the head
like a good little girl
the nice little puppy
until I have had enough
my smile gets wider
to show my canines
then they had better be ware
of the guard dog inside
whose bark is no longer worse than the bite.

I sometimes appear
as a confidant and teacher
I sometimes appear
as a mother and friend
I sometimes appear
as Ongwehonewe and Honyonohn
now I wait
to appear as a lover and partner
for that special person
who waits for me to appear

© Barbara-Helen Hill, 1996/97