Seven year old Adysen Reader
Took her mother's most fancy wine glass
And filled it with apple juice,
All the while telling me that one day,
She'd really be able to taste the stars.
"You know," she tells me, "You could jump from the
Empire State building and survive."
I tell her she's wrong, and that you'll die.
"No, no," she insists, "it's not the jump that kills you- it's the ground-
The sky just hugs you and wishes he didn't have to let go."
Ady's been able to draw since she was four,
But she hasn't been an artist till she was nine, and
Manned up enough to tell me that she really didn't
Believe in dragons, but she hopes we can still be friends.
In sixth grade, I read her the story of Icarus,
And how he fell to his death because he wanted too much
With too little.
(Spoiler Alert: We're still friends)
Ady has never been afraid of asking boys out.
She says it's better to know he doesn't like her
Then to be sitting around wondering if he does.
Two boys, two strikes out, and she tells
Me with sad eyes,
"He didn't mean to go too close to the sun. He didn't mean to fall.
He just wanted to fly."
Adysen is the only person I know who likes
Brownies better than cake,
And she doesn't believe in luck.
When she dropped her mother's fancy wine glass,
Her hands shook cleaning it up,
And she blamed it on the apple juice champagne
When her vision started blurring.
She works on the computer more than with a sketch pad,
But that's okay, because she says she likes animation more.
She lies a lot, but it's the necessary lies, like "I'm okay,"
And "you really are my friend".
Adysen will always be an artist.
Ten years later, she'll see
Icarus flying in her real starry champagne
And she'll still be most afraid of falling