Absolute - Imitation

The summer I was fourteen mi abuelita's amigo, 

Gilbert—a name I've always been oddly fascinated with—

trimmed my hair.

Five fingers worth of it, 

from the uneven tips.

Ay! Que bonito pelo tiene mi niña, Gilbert shrilled.

I never knew, 

a girl who was deaf with only compliments, 

it would take only one man to make me realize

that the scriptures of God,

in which regards on his soul design of his creations

could bring some truth to those words

written by man.

Mi pelo,

pelo de bruja,

nido de pájaro

is thick like my skin,

wavy like my untamed temper that brings shame

on peers, and I

curly like the pride I've got in my soul—

it twists and swirls, hidden at times, but always there—

brown like the dirt I step on, reminding me that we are alike,

with the ability to bring life.

But yet, I find myself drawn to the water,

the other half,

and stare down at what it shows me,

where it wants improvement.

And suddenly, 

it seems that

these words,

these new sweet words,

dropped a rock

from a bolder above

creating a splash,

creating a clash to the spell

of beauty and danger.

Yes,

I was once there

there I once was

was I there once?

Oh! How could I have allowed an earthly reflection deceive me? When I was so much more than what it showed

I was always so much more.

That, I now know.

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(Imitation of Jaqueline Woodson's Absolute poem!)