A Pastel of Me at 4

Every day I pass her twice, once coming down and once going up to my bedroom, but she's unrecognized, just another part of the wall.

Every now and then, though, I see the little girl's face, her blue eyes, blond hair, Mother-smocked dress.

Always, when I do, I am startled. Who is she?


I know it's me but it's not me. So little remains: pronounced chin and cleft gone to anatomical anomaly and surgery; blond hair turned golden-silver; eyes hidden behind glasses.

The happy child with a future ahead recedes into an ever more distant past.