Make Me...

• Caroline Wilson, Grade 9
• Poetry
• 2017

Make me a saint.
Not for the winning of heart or the silence of word
Not for the books, the story of my timeless wander through the open fields of my youth.

Make me a sin.
Not for the fear I burn crest into the skin of all who walk
Not for the muted mutters and hushed whispers the snake has tempered into man’s ear

Make me an angel.
Not for the halo that rings around my head, bringing all those I pass to their knees.
Not for the seat I do hold on sacred ground, making all those beneath quiver in hate of my perfection.

Make me a mortal.
Not for the ever looming fear of death that passes me off as no more than a speck in an empire of dust
Not for the love of all things on the short string I hold to tug the world of imperfect too just.

No make me not these,
Make me the ground, the earth beneath our feet
Make me the dirt, the foundation from which the world was built
Make me the earth we take for granted every day.