Friday, June 01, 1990

Untitled 1989

I tried to weed through my box again --
Foolish girl!
I should have known
It's to that box that all my past
has developed wings and flown.

Must paper
long-dried ink
programs, flowers
a can from which Jeff drank.

Poems --
some foolish, childish young dreams,
Quotations from Shakespeare
diaries cracked at the seams.

I can look on my notes, passed
quickly in class
Some left in my locker from Steven
en masse.

A hair piece dried from the Oktoberfest,
Some bubblegum given at camp on request.
It's my life I've got stored away in that box --
if I threw it away, then something'd be lost.

When I look there I get carried back deep in time
to the pains and the joys,
thoughts that went through my mind.
I need the reminders sometimes you see,
That somewhere inside of me
I am still me.


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