Reinvention

They never tell you about the blank, white paper.

From first memory, the paper has lines
Thick and black.
A box of crayons at your side
Neatly lined up in the box.
You must always put them back neatly in the box.
You must always color within the lines.
You must teach your body to obey the lines.
You see the frowns, the head shakes
The “No! Inside the lines!”

So you are good.
Soon you do not need to see the lines on the paper
You reproduce them from memory.
You make neat, tidy strokes within the shapes.
Soon you are given a bigger box of crayons
Markers, pastels, even brushes if you are especially good.

No one tells you about the shock of that day.
Perhaps no one you know has seen it.
Perhaps they scrunch their eyes shut
No longer see the paper
No longer move their hands along its flat surface.

But, you may see it.
The crayons are worn to stubs or broken.
The markers are out of ink.
The pastels are smeared on the floor.
You cry and cry and cry.
Someone tells you to shut up.
Big girls, big boys don’t cry.
You will upset the others.

But you cry.
You find a big barrel.
In it you put what you cannot use on the paper
Then, if you are daring, you put what you do not want.
A day comes when you wake up.
Light is glaring off the blank, white paper
Like sun rays reflected off smooth metal.
It is too much for anyone to bear.

You could tear up the paper
Leave the room
Even forget that the room ever existed.
It is a choice.

But you do not choose to leave the room.
Instead you remember an even earlier time
A time before the lines
When your little hands gripped the crayon uncertainly
Struggled to make the marks stay on the paper.
Color began to appear.
You were amazed.

You move around the blank, white paper to a new spot.
One cannot call the new spot comfortable.
You look for something to put on the paper again.
Perhaps you find something close at hand.
Perhaps you must find something new
Searching the cupboards
That you never knew existed.
Perhaps you take the edge of your fingernail
And make grooves in the paper.

All that matters to you now
Is that you see and feel the blank, white paper.