Rachel

17

hello sleepyhead
did you have another
nice insomnia? you look
pretty grey in the under-eye
area. that’s okay. you & I
sometimes like grey days
better than blue ones.
good morning moon
still hanging around?
coming and going is hard for some people
staying is harder for me.
oh. look at my hair.
I am a frizz-bomb
sleepy bed head? tousled-sexy?
no. I could put it up.
sleepyhead, in the mirror: your breasts:
the kind he says
they’re lovely
and probably thinks
they’re smaller than I expected
the push-up bra dilemma,
choose the purple lacy one
remember, stopping, an evening
eyes sweeping over sandals
trying on the bra and
feeling: pretty
ahh, good morning.
sitting on the toilet
porcelain is cold.
morning pee is the best:
watch your stomach as you drain
con-caving inwards
ribs peek out like
waving, wiggling fingers.
hand-washing is a sudsy ordeal
if you remember the soap
gotten into the dirty habit
of forgetting it,
and of drying
hands on pants instead of towels
oops: bare legs
oatmeal thighs
yucky yucky
mmm. breakfast time.
slip on short-shorts unwearable outside
“Dancer” and silver sequins on the butt.
I am not a dancer
dancing is not like conceptual art
or experimental poetry
it’s more like tax-returns,
not everyone can do it.
I console
myself
with everyone,
then feign
uniqueness
with a three-cereal-combination
I once met identical twins
except the haircut
one of them was named Unique
I laughed.
nobody else understood the humor of it.
I wonder what
embarrassed-eyes
look like
because they never
look right at me,
something (besides dancing) that
I am terrible at:
avoiding faces.
I pretend
it is
a special morning.
hurrah! another day
is here! I am growing older!
the apocalypse is growing nearer!
if I ever marry, I am one day closer to it.
my period is coming sooner!
O, Welcome,
June 22nd
I have been waiting
all my life
for you to come
(and go).