BY JULIE CHEN
When I was at the age of pirates and sandcastles,
My Pa used to tell me
He was a coal miner.
Coal, he would say,
You find in the ground.
Buried deep.
But those little black chunks, they’re magical.
They burst into golden rays when the time is right.
Now I’m at the age of calculus and physics.
Turns out,
my dad is not a coal miner.
But although he does not work with shovels,
Dirty fingertips,
And dark, sooty bundles that burst into flame,
I understand what he means when he says
You could be just a spark away
From being brilliant.
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