Tuesday, April 29, 2014

Poem a Day: 29

On the Same Topic

I used to imagine what it'd be like
to be that girl, the one in class who sits

in the back, face covered with long dark
wavy mermaid hair, the wraith in pale skin

who doesn't say a word, who won't raise
her hand, who in her slight loveliness is

more ghost than girl, floating in the sides
of our visions like quicksilver.

I wanted to be her, mysterious and secret,
wanted to hold my metaphorical cards close

to my slim chest, wanted to carry with me
that Mona Lisa smile, wanted to be vapor,

intangible, odorless, shining like moon
light on dark leaves.  I wanted to leave no

mark on the world.  I certainly didn't want
to be the girl I was -- that pudgy babyface

sitting right in front of the teacher, her arm
always itching to raise, the words pushing

against her lips, tangling into themselves in
their rush to be free. That girl waving

as if drowning, shouting loudly with every
fiber of her freckled body pick me pick me

oh please pick me

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