By Sadie York
As a young girl,
There were no boundaries
For what I could do
For what I could be.
My first dream
Was to be a princess.
No one was cruel enough
To hit me with the reality of that fantasy.
I’d have a pet tiger, named Tiggy
And Tiggy and I, well,
The opportunities were infinite.
Next was an actress.
I’d prop my iPad 2 up
On my pink play castle,
And I’d recreate movie scenes
With a persisting belief I could be up on the big screen.
For a while,
Once the idea of making it big had dulled,
I couldn’t muster up a new dream.
At least not one that would satisfy
The financial and mental aspirations of a “content” life.
I still can’t.
The branches of my fig tree
Tangle and sprout,
Nourished by the idea of happy living.
My heart yearns for satisfaction,
An inflamed rash
Soothed by a tuscan life where the sun sets a glowy ochre hue.
Soothed by work as a profiler in an apartment for two,
One to return to after late nights in the city.
Soothed from the countless hours on a film set,
Transferring worlds from the mind into existence.
Soothed by the sight of the tall pine trees,
A sight captured on my back,
Wading through a lake beside my home.
The birds will scatter above
And the water will ripple around my bobbing head,
Echoing hymns of the natural world.
While there will always be an itch,
A dissatisfaction to lament
My fig tree continues to lengthen,
Just as my hopes and aspirations do so.
Because as long as there is a dream,
The possibilities are in reach.