Sparks of light
reflecting on almost-still water,
rippling in the wind,
serenely defying the inaccessibility
of an unreachable institution
at the highest of unclimbable summits--
This is Juilliard.

The flat, submerged pond
rejects bravado because
this school doesn't need anything
to signal superiority.

There is no path
I could have taken
that would have led me here.

Never in my life
would I be the right "material";
my cloth is of a different texture.

Not tough enough, I'm
not thin enough.
Not strong enough, I'm
not smart enough.

And to the woman
who was enough--
the above and beyond,
the prodigy,
the innovator,
strong and tough and smart and thin--

if I am not enough, she is abundance.

I am concrete, she is limestone.

I am quartz, she is diamond.

How can I ever
see a bright picture of myself
in the shadow of
such a woman?