Fifteen

Maybe it's okay to be
twenty-six going on fifteen once in a while
in Walmart I heard "Call Your Girlfriend" and remembered
a girl who loved calculus and physics and cold crisp clean lines and ideas

I remembered my trembling voice on the phone as I read poetry to
the guy at the Wordfest office and he said
--in surprise--
"that's not bad!"

I remembered the shot of white hot electric energy and the
tickle of sexuality I did not yet understand when
Shane Koyczan read about how to love a woman
and by love I mean fuck with every atom of sincerity in one's being

I remembered the embarassment of being a teenage goth
--slightly--
in front of Margaret Atwood and that
damning sigh of bored frustration after I admitted that I wrote
as she signed "Oryx and Crake" for me

I remembered snow outside my private school's math class
and writing a love poem to my
English-Indian tutor who had
beautiful deep brown eyes and a slightly broken nose and a limp
and a smile that made my young heart quicken
like a startled deer

I remember hiding in the library,
eating chocolate chip cookies and drinking milk and reading books
they were the most reliable friends

And then--I was so very glad that
I am no longer fifteen.

***

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