|
Beautiful Child She was a walking testament to youthful rebellion. From the bottom of her scuffed Doc Martin's to the top of her purple fisherman's hat, she flaunted her strangeness. Every wave of her multi-ringed hand demanded attention, and then dismissed it. Across her lap lay a soft brown jacket, ignored despite the rain outside the bus window. Black canvas slacks encased limber legs drawn up into the confined seating area allowed by the public transportation. A matching scoop-necked, black and white striped shirt signaled the end of her concessions to fashion.A black dog collar studded with silver adorned her still baby-fat throat. Deep wine-colored lipstick outlined in purple highlighted her puckered mouth. Dark blue diamonds stretched from her eyebrows down her cheeks, covering her eyes. Black outliner traced the odd makeup, drawing sorrowful lines down the inward curve of her cheeks, giving her the look of a sinister, melancholy, circus clown. Her hair under the lavender hat was reddish, too dark and purple to be anything but bottle-colored. Two tight braids hung down either side of her forehead, two more behind her ears, and one final thick braid brushed the top of her collar. They quivered as she laughed, flipped when she tossed her head haughtily away from those who dared to stare at her.Stifling an impulse to make her acquaintance, I choke down the hundred questions I want to ask her. Where are you going? Why are you dressed like that? What is that bizarre makeup about? Who are you, and who are you trying to be? Instead I exchange boring reading material for paper and pen, jotting down every detail I possibly can.Who am I to ignore poetry in motion?
|
||||||
