in the first moment that she breathes, she is that of the supernatural
by three, she is all that is the universe
there is space dust in her bones and galaxies in her blood
her grin is a facula and her irises are nebulae
she is a force of nature
at eight, her personality is a riptide and you had better
steady yourself for impact when her laughter
loud, joyous laughter
crashes into you,
and you will feel every sharp rock and smooth grain of sand,
whether you wanted to or not.
at twelve, there is mild despair
will I matter in two hundred years?
will people know my name?
the light dims.
at age sixteen, she separates from the Truth.
she doesn’t believe in miracles or serendipity
her body, her laughter, her joy and grief and curiosity
and she will revert to the dust from whence she came
and nothing truly lasts
she is nineteen and the Truth returns,
as the sun over the trees at dawn
sometimes the good things aren’t extraordinary,
and sometimes the extraordinary is mundane
(because she is Mundane
she is made of star dust)
there are dogs in this world, she thinks
that’s pretty great