Marionette

Claire Wang, Del Norte High School, graduating in '26 February 22, 2023

Photography by Isha Malli, Del Norte High School

Winter (1)

Born of expectations

A mother’s hands dug expectantly

In desolate soils hoping for

Clay but finding

Only dirt beneath the snow.

Spring (2)

Born of ambitions,

Hopeful fingers twirled in the air

Tracing destiny’s golden threads

Into the heart of a newborn,

Expectations like weeds in a child’s mind.

You will be great.

But I’m not.

Summer (3)

Followed by hope, the child

Trails her peers to the playground

But does not follow.

Expectations, too much for a toddler.

Autumn (4)

The mother planted her seeds in winter

Hoping to harvest in the fall.

Expectations for the child a mold

For brittle plastic, not the clay she had hoped for.

I can’t keep up.

How disappointing.

Winter (5)

By now the child has learned

To count the seasons as years,

The years as decades,

Warm hands and cold Expectations twisting blindly,

The child a marionette on strings;

Pulling pressure.

Spring (6)

The mother made a gamble

In winter, the child’s life

Her game, her puppet,

All her wishes projected

Into golden fantasies

Of what she could not have.

Her wishes, floating, sinking into her child’s heart.

I only want what’s best for you.

Summer (7)

The mother tells the child

Everything, all her hopeful

Projections were for her own

Good, in flaming red screams

At the child’s wishful disobedience

But I never wanted any of this.

Autumn (8)

In the autumn of her youth,

She can no longer be considered

A child in the way her mother’s

Hands force her own on the painting

Of life, walking her down the

Stumbled, bleeding path instead of

Letting her pave her own.

My life is mine. But it’s not.

Winter (9)

The child bleeds and bends in the

Warmth of fall yet all but

Freezes in winter’s trenches.

And she begins to crack in the cold.

What’s wrong?

Everything.

Spring (10)

The child forgets to grow

In the rainy season;

Her mother’s wishes

All rain without sunlight –

The child begins to wither.

Summer (11)

The child begins to crack

Under summer’s heat as if

Pressure could tear her apart

From the inside.

Autumn (12)

Autumn bleeds scarlet

Running rivers of red

As if mere leaves could mask

A child’s pain.

What right do you have to complain?

Everything.

But nothing the child screams to

Herself can help her anymore.

Winter (13)

13 seasons, 13 years of pain.

The child counts her seasons

Like landmarks, her achievements

Like everything she has never wanted

Born of expectations,

The child’s hope can only die with the snow.

Year (14)

And on empty nights

The mother can only wonder

If the child was right.

As if the past cares about regret.