Augie

Echoed footsteps on cold tile

and sisterly giggles filling the murky summer air.

“Augie slow down! Your legs are toooo looooong.”

Listen closely and you can hear the salt water pool splashing and circulating, only a window away.

Breathe deeply and you can taste it.

You can count the people we’ve loved by the freckles on our shoulders

and hear the constellations in our laughter.

A logastellus, a nepenthe, and a rantipole.

We are young

and filled with viridity and redamancy

and nothing will stop us from filling rooms with the light in our eyes our father gave us.

We make homes under blanket fort kingdoms

on the kitchen floor

in the ant hills

and in one another’s arms.

We are vivacious.

 

Since then,

hours have passed and years have begun to feel like moments.

Days now feel like a fleeting breath where they used to be endless.

I have been weathered and scarred and beaten down

but I am wiser and stronger and more resilient than I could have ever hoped.

I have grown into a woman I know of which my mother would radiate pride

and for that,

I am proud.

My hair may be a few hues darker

and my eyes greener

but I still have that same Floridian sun smile

and Boston winter laugh.

I still dance in thunderstorms,

turning my pink converse brown

and yell song lyrics out the window onto open highways.

I am still utterly vivacious

and by my name’s damn meaning,

completely and entirely passionate, down to my core.

I have erred more times than I can tally

And I will continue to

but I will never make the same mistake twice.

I once played Judas

and I once fell when I should have flown

but those instances will never repeat themselves.

My mother taught me to own what I have done

and my father taught me to never commit the same fault twice.

I have grown and am still growing

reaching to the sun in which I find my mother’s arms.

I still remain the same as I was in pigtails and playgrounds

but I am simultaneously revolutionized.

May this growing be everlasting.