And here's my personal favorite of my poems. I wrote it a few years ago as I was working through some of my childhood baggage. When I was a kid, we moved every two or three years. I went to nine schools in eight years, for example. All my life I had put the rosy view on this - I had focused on the positives of moving all the time (and there are some real positives). But when I finally had the nerve to address the pain, twenty years later, this poem came out of me.
I call it "Goodbye Me."
Foggy rear window,
Cold black vinyl.
I live dangerously, slipping from the bite of the belt.
I rest my small chin on the scratchy surface
And frantically clear the glass.
We begin to move.
“Goodbye, house,” my parents call out cheerfully.
“Goodbye, lake! Goodbye, Newport News!
Goodbye, Virginia!”
My father bursts into jovial, Bob Hope song:
“Thanks…for the memories…”
My mother, without a backward glance,
Dons her glasses and opens a magazine.
My starving eyes gobble up the driveway
And feast upon the bricks, the shutters,
The windows…the windows…
The surprised house stares back
Like a mother deserted.
Empty of all.
Empty of me.
Empty me.
My little yellow room will not welcome me again.
My cheeks won’t press against that plush carpet.
No more warm feet down the cool, dark hall.
My hair will not float like seaweed above me
In that deep, shining tub.
The car picks up speed and the road curves.
With centrifugal force, the house is torn from my grasp.
Kerry Lake, Kerry Lake Drive,
5-1-5 Kerry Lake Drive – how I loved the cadence of it.
But now the song tilts off center
And rolls in my heart like a discordant chorus of drums.
No sweet smelling, tanned and tousled comrades
Will turn that corner calling my name ever again.
They are still asleep in their little beds
In their familiar, happy houses,
Fringed eyes shut, blonde lashes traced against freckled cheeks,
Slow breaths from deep within…
I breathe with them, one last time,
And my breath fogs the window.
In a panic, I rub the cold glass.
My mind screams, “I will never be here again! I am gone – I am gone!”
No parades line the curb.
No flags at half mast in the schoolyard.
No importance to my leaving. I’m just passing through.
We turn onto the highway and my parents chirp together,
“Buckle up, kiddos!”
The familiar weight of resignation falls upon me.
I turn in the seat and restrain myself.
My brother sighs and we steal a glance at each other,
Then quickly, quickly turn away.
If one of us begins to cry, will we ever be able to stop?
Push it down, close it up, leave it behind, look ahead.
Chin up.
My gaze burns the black vinyl expanse in front of me.
My nostrils flare with each hot, measured breath.
Impotent energy surges through my small body
And fills the confining space.
“Melanie!” my mother exclaims, turning her regal head
And arching one perfect eyebrow above the sleek glasses,
“Stop kicking the back of this seat!”
