The Curious Giants

I was no different

From other children.

I pulled flowers

From the gardens.

I made tarts

From the mud which

Grew by the river.

As a calf in spring

Romps; so did I.

Until the winter

Of my childhood,

I did not understand.

“You are almost

A young woman,”

Said my mother.

“But you must

Know your path

Shall never be

Like other women.

Children will

Never call you

Their mother.

A man will never

Know you and call

You his wife.”

I felt a furrow

Deepen between

My brow.

“Am I not fair?”

My tone was low

But my heart was high.

Silence answered

What I already

Knew was true.

What man wishes

A plain woman?

After an hour,

My mother spoke.

“Daughter, you

Have a greater,

Nobler, harsher

Duty to fulfill.”

Just as soon

As my life

Was placed in

My two hands,

It was taken

Out of my reach.

“Daughter, do you

Know you were

Set apart from

the other children?

Have you not

Ever thought in

Your beautiful mind

Why this is?

As a child,

You pulled flowers

From the gardens.

You made tarts

From the mud

That grows by

The Great River.

As a child,

You played

Among the dirt,

Among your peers.

Yet, always, always,

You looked up.

Then, you stood up.

As a child,

You touched the sky

By asking why.

Your brothers

And your sisters

Never bothered

To know why

The sky was

Gray, when it

Should be blue.

Always, always,

You stood apart.

You are a

Seeker, Daughter.

Those are few

And sacred.

Your task, now,

In the winter

Of your childhood.

Is to step

Into the spring

Of life as

A woman now.

And, to seek,

The reply to

The giants.”

While other women

Married a man

And bore sons

And a daughter.

I married a

Quest. I left

My childhood

In the lap

Of Winter

I sought what

Others did not.

The little minds

Around me

Grew small.

They pulled flowers

From the garden

While I went

And stood on

The shoulders of

The curious giants.