I remember I was young...



I remember I was young.

I remember my nails were red and short when I went for pictures at Olan Mills and sat on plastic tree stumps in front of paper forest backdrops.

I remember my hair was long and flipped under and my wrists were small and my fingers only stretched three quarters of an octave on my piano.

I remember death.

I remember Christy McCullough. Her class was older than me. Her shuttle was white. My teacher, Mrs. Green, rolled in a tv with knobs on a cart and we watched Ms. McCullough go up, with her class watching on tv, too. I had a plastic shuttle with the details half stripped 'cause the sticker stopped sticking. Challenger didn't stick either.

I remember the purple beads hanging from Grandma Bea's hand as she crossed herself once. The man in the box was bald and grayish white and people walked past him, looked at him, and left the church. I guess they didn't want to wake him up.

I remember when I didn't know he was dead.

I remember my fish floating on their backs, my rabbit Leo the Lop landing lopsided, my dog Bagel with his cold wet nose, and my cockatiel Fantine.

I remember Dad coming home with Bagel's collar and the towel he carried him in, I was watching at the window picking at the couch threads. Fantine crashed and landed with a thud in her cage, and lay still.

I remember, I remember Aunt Mercy.

I remember her black wig and bony hands. She was pasted to her chair and then plastered to her hospital bed. I hated her doctors.

I remember losing her. Mom and Dad told me and I was young-maybe sevon or eight-and we lay on my parents' bed and cried, til it hurt and my face felt wet with tears and a runny nose and my hair was wet against my face and I just couldn't cry. My mom stroked my hair and my dad held my hand.

I remember I was young.





Life Experience



I've lived a million lives in my head

I've had fame, fortune, been on my deathbed and bounced back

I've married the rich and famous and the boy at the library who held a door for me once.



In my head I'm a foot taller and the next Bernadette Peters

I kissed my first crush once (only in my head) but I could taste his tongue

and the orange juice I'd imagined him drinking a minute before.

It's more than a dream,

I've cried over illnesses, I've even killed off friends a few times.



All this imagining my life

cause I haven't been enough

I'm not good enough at living yet

Cause I've still never tasted anything better than his tongue

the orange cool tang followed by the hot wetness.





~Fingerprints on Glass~



Every morning the radio screams and I set it back half an hour
I wake up what seems like 5 minutes later
Pushing hair out of my eyes I get up and reach for the third drawer
down from my dresser. Picking out my jeans I reach up two drawers and
grab my bra and underwear, then I finger down one drawer and pull the
first shirt my fingers touch.
Then I put it back and get a new shirt.
The morning has started and it's 8:36 am.

Every morning I look in the mirror at the fingerprints on the glass
I shake my head and roll my neck twice
Pulling my hair into two silver clips I check my reflection. I pull them
off, smooth out my curls, and grab the small black plastic butterfly clip
I wore yesterday. I grab the deodorant, tooth brush, Crest paste, vitamin C, hand lotion, and my Garden Botanika Praline lipstick.
I blot my lips with tissue and it's 8:41 am.

Every morning I climb back into bed and stare at the clock
It's ticking too fast and I turn to the window
I check out the parking garage next door, I check the time, get out of my bed,
fix my hair, get my keys and ID. I grab my blood red bag, I turn to the
door and then back to the sink, staring at the soap scum around the
small Caswell-Massey soap from the hotel my Dad stayed in last parents'
weekend. I check the mirror with the fingerprints on the glass
I check what I reflect, I change my shirt one more time
I slip on my shoes and it's 8:44 am.

Every morning I leave at 8:46 am.
For two minutes I stand and I try to remember what I tend to forget.
I stare at the smudges on my face on the mirror
I watch the fingerprints on the glass and I look for me.