day 18 I wanna be

When my son was three, he asked me

what I wanted to be when I grow up.

The possibilities lit up, 

at the thought I could still still be..

Like a second chance at life 

I said I'd like to be 

a pianist, an artist, a writer,

but now I wonder,

could I be a tree maybe? 

A seraya if so,

I'd live for a hundred and fifty years,

striking straight for the stars 

before I branch out, 

my ribs that run down me in parallel 

an invitation to climb up to the sky. 

I'd be so broad, and solid,

yet you'd never call me fat. 

Yes, I'll be a mighty giant 

to stand the test of time. 

Or perhaps...I'll be the sea,

writing and revising shorelines forever.

I'd have lived to see dinosaurs roam

and mosasauraus dive deep,

the trilobite turning to stone on my bed. 

I'll ebb and flow right through time, from yestersag till tomorrow when human beings have come and gone, and the next Kings of the land are here.

Yes, I'll be the sea, washing over the sins of the past into the future.

Have I a tree in me? or the sea? 

I definitely have birds in me. 

Maybe I'll be a bird, the drongo with its two tail feathers following far behind me. I'll fly from tree to tree but make the seraya my home,

Or I'll be the nondescript plover, small and brown, you won't notice me till I'm gone over the sea, to far flung lands, on the other side of the globe. 

One thing I know, is that after all this, I'll still always want to be

the mother to this child, 

who, with his questions, set me free.

 this covid will be over and the new norms wilcarrying boats 

ever ready to wash away this germ now and new worlds to come

so broad , yet I'd never be called fat 

I'll strike straight for the stars 

and then branch out

the ribs running down my trunk

am invitation and a challenge