a beautiful poem by a gifted writer who recently passed

I’m going to find me a little girl, one with at least two bandaids on her shins and a book in her hand

And her hair uncombed in the back

One who has already adopted a spider and the lonely neighbor who still gets the paper

And I’m going to sponsor that little girl

In her eventual run for president.

I’m gonna find that girl in a place where the waves meet the beach

And I’m going to say: Reject that device that will let you see a pretend ocean

And a pretend beach

Build your own sand castle, little girl.

And when the waves take it.

Build it again.

I’m going to sneak into her class and whisper things to her things like:

Hey, sometimes the best people feel the worst

It’s the way things are

but keep on feeling.

Until the teacher says, Can you please leave? You are disturbing the caged parrot.

And I’ll leave but from the corner of my eye

I’ll see the little girl open the window

And free the parrot and the teacher.

And when the little girl runs for playground Senate

And she is pelted with water balloons by her detractors,

I’m going to tell her,

Little girl

Sometimes to make a difference, you have to get your hair wet

And then I’m going to get a sack of water balloons

And hunt down every one of those kids

And spend time in prison

Because no one pelts my little girl with water balloons.

And when it comes time for the little girl to like a boy

I’ll say

Not that one

Not that one

Maybe that one.

And if she says:

Actually, I prefer girls

I’ll say

Not that one

Not that one

Maybe that one.

And when that little girl turns 35

And still has bandaids on her shin

And a book in her hand

I’ll say now it’s time to run

And if she says

Actually I’d just like to raise children

Or own a goat farm

Or paint on walls

I’ll say,

Well, the truth is,

Being yourself is a form of running

So run

Run

Run.