Mornings in Thailand
Anna McGillicuddy, 129 YinDEight hours, I've been painting on this canvasA swirling world of colorful dreamsand yet somehow, now, there's musicslowly seeping into it’s woven seams.My heavy eyelids ignore my commandsStaying closed as if that would be able to keepThe paintbrush from slowing down, and so I try,Try to hold onto my creations, thinking 'sleep, sleep, sleep!'My mind wanders to the races that woke me in the night3am tin-roof sprints performed at top speedAin't no rest for the wicked, they sayBut did you know that the wicked is a two-bird stampede?Peeling myself off my sweat-drenched sheetsI think of a story from long ago A girl and those seven dwarvesGrumpy, I think, I'd like to get to know.My mirror reveals the bags where I keep my paintsGreen and blue swirls settled under my eyesWaiting for the dip of that reverie paintbrushAnd a bed, hoping I give into its cries.I throw water on my face and notice the colors come to life;Brown in my eyes and in the freckle on my chin,Hue of red dusted on my cheeks and suddenly,A watercolor masterpiece born on my pale, Irish skin.I gather my things, courage amongst them,And walk right out the front door,Meeting the sounds of the loudspeakerMusic changing to words from my mayor, his daily chore."Remember to be kind, remember to laugh always"A replacement for the muffled Thai I don't understand,Something I need to tell myself dailyA simple mantra, that in reality is so very grand.I walk by some birds and they give me a nod - Turn up my music, belt out the latest jamA smile appears on my face as I shed Grumpy's skin, A metamorphosis of dwarves, if you will, and Happy, I am.Because as I watch the sun rise while I walk down the street,And notice all the signs that it has woken up the worldLike the birds that are chirping and the kids that are 'hello-ing'I think to myself, 'I mean really, could there be a luckier girl?’