We Are Just Children In The Eyes Of God Poem by Patti Masterman

I make memories for us, in my mind
for you, so far distant, and for me, always here,
And some begin just like a movie scene,
the view dropping down from the sky,
camera an unfixed, mobile eye;
there are your feet and legs, covering ground steadily
not really in a hurry, but looking as if
there is a meeting somewhere that you must soon arrive.

Then another camera cuts in, to a close up of my face
my eyes roam the plaza; where is he, where is he,
looking at my watch, impatiently tapping my foot;
He said he'd be here, and I was so wanting to talk..

Another camera shot of your back, as you thrust through the traffic
ignoring oncoming cars, which honk back, at your gestures.
A faint smile begins to blush at the edges of your features,
you walk with a slight side to side motion,
Like someone who is caught up in himself, his own thoughts
someone whose mind is not entirely on his actions
(and there is a degree of danger there, we are made to feel,
watching the film)

Now the camera zooms out, and we see you
Crossing to a coffee shop, and in one of the paned windows
We see a lady, legs crossed, cheek resting on one manicured hand-
Then in a sudden, expectant motion, she sits up, recrosses her legs
Then jumps up, uncrossing everything, goes toward the door..

Then the door is shown opening and the camera fastens,
Not upon the man and woman, as we were expecting it to do;
But instead, on a photo hanging just there in the hallway,
Of another man and woman dancing with wild abandon,
Hands flung outward in the air, a foot here and there, frozen in mid-air-
Perhaps it is a Tango, for it looks physical and demanding.

The camera zeros in on the photo, which fades
and then sharpens to becomes a real scene;
And each scene ends on another picture,
which captures the cameras viewpoint,
And in each vignette, we become just slightly younger.
Sometimes it is a painting, instead, and then we slowly change,
from caricatures into real living beings.

The final one, a painting of the heavens, has revealed God himself,
Standing entirely captivated, a faint smile on his ancient, wizened face
While watching two riotous children at play,
Teasing and chasing and playing with abandon,
Enjoying their youthful bodies to the fullest measure.

And then ever so patiently, slowly and kindly,
He beds them down, tucks them both in carefully,
beneath the green grass and brown earth, the trees and white clouds-
And in that way, He calls it a day.