When leaving home was a grand adventure

Swinging, swinging, swinging, crash. Ketchup on perfect yellow overalls. Jumped Andover the vault. Breath stolen by the ground. I gasped, stole it back. Pack-pack and pizza on the steps, neon jacket of orange, yellow, green, pink. Sand eyes, sliding the slip towards mud covered grass. Back and forth, feet

in the air, touching the sky. Falling down, fainted outside the breeze. Who am I? Passing over freeway to highway found freedom in the lake and the laughter. Smiles growing tired with age, complacency and apathy. Gin and tonic to remember grandmother. The smell of antique perfume satisfied desire for home. My last memory of her, yelling because of the fire. I’m lost. Where is home? The picture of the man in the yellow pants, famous on the block, brought Texas closer. His monkey friend, curiously absent. What is built with hands will fall down. Hallways, desks, chairs larger than life. Now shrunk. After learning, home to my friend who says

“it’s all right”. Right, training left. Ambidextrous skills held high in 3rd. The perfect point, plié, now jeté across the wood floor. Four of me, staring, dancing back. I am the monkey. Running in circles with no way out. Birthdays passed with memories of ladybugs landing in my hair. Black to blond to brown. The fateful ride from the bank, we left in the wrong direction. Blue smoke, life exploding in the brown shell,

safe exit only 500 feet away. Closing eyes to see the line. So far away until right there, below. Mother grabbed my hand, afraid the on-coming car would end. Red-face, blue shoes, I stewed at her ignorance of my autonomy. Pride is damaging. Provincetown 1992 revealed more. People are just people. We could only afford the beach when it was cold. Polka dots and frozen bicycles. Why are traffic jams not as sweet as grape jams? Each night my room would change from green to yellow to red.