Tonight, I slipped on my peculiarly patterned, cerulean and magenta rain boots. In this horribly soggy weather, I walked through the garden letting the pebbles beneath me sink into the thick rubber gaps between the ridges of my soles. My fingers absentmindedly traced the thick seams of my back pockets as I pulled my shoulders far back and tucked my hands into them. My flushed cheeks were moist, the temperature made me roll up the sleeves to my cardigan. The necklace that draped itself so gently against my freckled collarbone was beginning to feel incredibly heavy. "It is the humidity," I thought to myself, "Welcome home, 'Oklahoma'." I reached for the flashy gold clasp that aligned itself so perfectly with the soft, iridescent pieces that glistened in the enchanting glow of the dimly lit light. As I unbuckled it, I felt immediate reprieve.
 I sat for a moment on the swing and inhaled deep. In the soft stillness, in the perfect space between thoughts, I rested my mind.



  "Who are you?"
   Dr. Pate asked the class.

   The lump in my throat began to throb.

  "Who are you?"
 
   He asked again.


   A large portion of the class remained silent. I heard a few giggles from the back of the room, as if the question were to be taken lightheartedly. Some people sat in confusion as to what kind of answer he was looking for. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a few shift uncomfortably in their seats as if the spotlight was directly focussed on them.


  My eyes became glossy.


  "Who are you?"

  He asked a third time.


  I let the question resonate.



  Eyes still closed, my fingers traced along the small planks of the "Engagement Swing". For a moment, I smirked at how many boys had sat beside me on it, I reflected on how many encouraging evening chats it has held up through and how many tears of both sorrow and joy it has absorbed in the past two years.

And I thanked it for always "hanging in there," and always being willing to cradle me.

I thanked my little garden, whose glorious trees have so willingly draped over me (without eavesdropping, or reading my poetry); who have [yearly] put up their defenses against the vengeful wrath of every Tennessee August.

And in a spirit of gratefulness, I began to weep.
And weep.
And weep.


Tonight, God placed in front of me
A question
That I finally know the answer to.

With a pair of brand new eyes--

 I see.