1 2 3 4 5 6 7 and a Raven
Like a raven, I collected them. These seven are the ones that shone, the beautiful girls with something to prove and not much to loose. They caught the light somehow and joined the fold. I couldn’t know anything better than 1 2 3 4 5 6 7.
One, a beautiful blonde with a recent relocation. I was six then, and ten years later I still love her. Her laugh, the sunshine of a million brilliant days in this town.
Two: she’s much less shy than she was when we were seven. And she has a sixth sense that not many people know about: she can always tell. And she brought me number
Three. I never knew what to make of this girl, but I know she could spin circles around my logic and despite her demeanor, she’s had more pain than she deserves. Don’t write her off and she’ll write you a letter.
Four was such a wonderful accident; she’s grown shorter since when she used to tower over me. Statuesque in a canoe, she’s Pocahontas plus Beoncé. And who could make me laugh harder?
And oh, Five, she was a wonderful one, silent movie actress, director, and cameragirl. It’s no one’s fault but I’m sorry that she wasn’t earlier than five. When her voice grows into her thoughts, look out.
Six, Six, Six, I’m glad her number is Six because it sounds like her: poetic and crazy-beautiful. I’m glad I didn’t lose her; I’m glad we found this. There isn’t much of anything I’d trade for her and Maybelline.Seven was for speaking in tounges. Seven is God’s number and we met in his house. I don’t go there much anymore, but I see her often. Pen in hand, Seven counts in fives and becomes art or artist.