The way I understood it, growing up,
we were to become
something special with an outline as thick
and distinct as a figure in a child's drawing,
something that was a state of being
as separate as butterlfy from caterpillar,
something as much its own species as cat —
something like doctor or lawyer
or possibly architect,
and this would all take happen
in a completely natural way,
and from that place of arrival
everything else, other people and situations,
would have thick outlines, too,
and we would act upon them
with the mana of our special status
and make them
become what they were supposed to be.
Maybe that's why at 58,
with my identity and profession
still less than a talisman
and outlines everywhere in the world,
including my own,
remaining very vague and ambiguous,
I often wonder if I'm an adult yet,
or if that kind of magic
is just about to kick in.
Max Reif
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-magic-3/
