Hidden Treasure

This first poem was discovered by John Borland, who was Bailey’s teacher, mentor, and friend. Shortly after Bailey’s death, John decided to clean out his office cabinet. While doing so, a lone computer disk fell to the floor. Not knowing what it was, he placed it in his computer and found this poem. Bailey was about 12 years old when she wrote this.

The Wonder Awaits

I lay down to sleep
on this one last evening
wondering how much more
until I’ll be leaving

And I think about
the time that has past
and I can’t help believing
that it might not last

Is there an end
and what after that
do I go on
or just disappear in a snap

The newspaper reads
of someone’s death
and I wonder the chances
that I could be next

There are so many
horrible ways to die
I hope I go peacefully
with not a cry

My dreams of this moment
are a mist in the air
for of the dreams
I do not care

I await the moment
that I see the truth
do I live on
or in a silent booth

Each day I’m afraid
of the events to come
But maybe I shouldn’t be
maybe death’s not a bum

Maybe I’ll like it
and maybe it’s better
but that I will see
when G-d sends me that letter

The letter that says
it is time to go
the moment I’ve feared
will finally show

And I will go forth
to see what’s in store
if I live on
or the rest is a bore

I only wish that
I could come back
to tell the world
of what death is in fact

Bailey died as a passenger in an automobile accident on a rainy day. On August 17, 2000, two years before that fateful day, she put her mind’s thoughts about sitting in the passenger seat on a rainy day onto paper.

Untitled.

Have you ever ridden in the passenger seat of a car while the rain outside is deadly? I mean, really pouring. The type of rain in which the windshield wipers serve no purpose. The kind of rain that makes you almost afraid, afraid just to be near it, much less to drive in. Yet, you are safe; your life is in the hands of the person next to you. No matter how much you may dislike this person, or how little you care for him/her, in this situation, you have complete confidence in their skill and concentration. You believe in them because, for the moment, it weakens your fear.

Each drop collides with the windshield with a noise that is mistakable for nothing but rain. Each individual drop hits at such a speed that the once separated pounding, becomes an irritable ceaseless patter. The drumming, you know, is louder than the everyday commotion that meets your ears. You can feel the strength of the water against the glass, but inside the car, behind a layer of glass and metal, it is surprisingly silent. It is as if the sounds that you know are so deafening, echo deliberately outward from the ear. You laugh at each drop that, with all its force, cannot penetrate through to you in sound or strength.

You admire the unique design made on the glass. You form your own game in your mind, a game of chance, a gamble with no one but yourself. You bet on which drop will reach the bottom first. You have played this game before. You can recognize the little drops that have the potential to become big ones, and the big ones who move so slowly that the wind eventually rips them apart. You watch their races, each one struggling to reach the bottom first, to cross the finish line, to win. No matter which one you choose to begin with, you always find a way to switch your bet to the winning drop. But why? For the sake of satisfaction? The joy at winning at your own game? But if you lost, didn’t you win? After all, your opponent has been defeated, what does that make you? That’s the great part about playing alone, about being both the challenger and the competitor. You experience both feelings at once and each one is strong enough to hurt and heal you inside.

It’s like a new world inside your mind, inside your car, away from the rain and undisturbed by everything. It’s a place in which you do not want to leave, and yet would be too lonely for you to bear to stay.