The lights and the raised platform
beckoned me.
I could hear the applause
for the performer twice before me.
Then once before me.
I knew I had it in me
to sing.

Maybe not come in
first place.
Maybe not second either.
But I could do it better than most.
Especially the girl before me
trying to sing a Madonna song
with pink ribbons
in her stringy hair.

My time was up to walk up
to the stage.
But I turned and ran away.
Out of the auditorium doors,
and down the hall.
All the way to the pink-tiled
room labeled Girls
on the other side of the building.

Maybe next time.

Spring 1987

Moving Day

It was time to leave
my school.
Try again somewhere new.

A pretty new house
that was really a bribe in disguise.
Maybe oak kitchen cabinets
or a fireplace of Tennessee fieldstone
courtesy of daddy's new job
would make mother
want to stay.

I got a bribe too.
A new room painted green.
Even though everyone else
hated it but me.
If only I could make some friends this time
mother suggested.

Summer 1987

Wrong Choice

I can't seem to make
any friends.
What was mother thinking?
New faces only had a bigger problem
with me.
Don't think I'll find the courage
to stand on a stage here either.

I guess mother had bigger problems to worry about
than me.
Her new empty cabinets were filled
with the problems they were supposed to solve.

Fall 1987

Seating Capacity 60

Big yellow bus stops
every morning at 6:30.
Why is the center aisle only
one foot wide?
So my fellow travelers can ask,
"How many pizzas do you think
she ordered last night?"
"Oh, at least 17."
Laughter.
I stare at the sign above the driver's head,
unable to tell if she's cruel or just oblivious.
Hoping that reading the sign over and over
will keep the wetness inside my eyes.
But the sign is only shouting out my problem.
Three people to a seat
except in mine.
Not that anyone wants to sit
with me.

Fall 1987

The Distance to Here

It's hard to pay
attention in class.
The teacher seems far away
and beyond all these
crammed-in
desks.

The desk in front of me
is giggling.
The desk to my left is too.
The desk behind me is tossing
spit balls
in my limp brown hair.

The teacher breaks off
her speech about the Aztecs.
"Stop creating a problem
back there," she says.
Not to the desk behind me,
or to the left or right,
but to mine.
Maybe she isn't so far away
after all.

Winter 1987

Gathering Books

I never noticed before
how the books under my desk
are caged in metal bars
just
like
me.

Winter 1987

Back in The Office

Teacher doesn't realize
she's giving me the same talk
I hear from my mother
every day.

"Why don't you even try
to fit in?"

As if it was my decision.

Nothing is.
Not to look like this
or to be sitting here
on this wooden chair
with this wooden teacher.

Winter 1987

Hope

Not all my teachers
are so cold.
The chorus leader says I
"got a purdy voice"
underneath my thick neck.

She'll have to special order
a dress for me,
she politely whispers
in the crowded hallway.
Guess people like me
aren't supposed to sing.

Spring 1988

Recital

Finally-
I got up on stage,
hoping the back row would
hide me.
The music started and
blocked out the high-pitched snickers
from the sopranos beside me.
Someone turned on spotlights,
white and piercing,
attacking our eyes.
Still
they could not block out
mother,
nor the empty chair
sitting lonely
next to her.

Spring 1988

Missing

Daddy left two weeks ago
to "clear his head."
Mother says he'll be back,
but his winter coat
is gone
from the front closet.

Summer 1988

Priorities

We have to move again.
I return my special dress
and wonder if a new singing teacher
will be as nice.

Mother says I'm selfish
to worry about such things.
She sighs, "Things are gonna change."
I can't have my own green room anymore
or get a new singing dress,
even if it will fit.

But most importantly
she tells me,
please make
some friends this time.

Summer 1988