. . . here is one of my NaPoMo poems from this year. . .
The first summer of breasts
Until they sprouted, I danced summers
on the lawn at Old Soldiers Home
where grampa played clarinet
on the bandstand and gramma sat
on a slatted bench shelling peas.
I was surrounded then by knightly
gestures of young tomboys. I knew
not the bounty nor the power I possessed.
Do you remember snap beads? I have
pictures that declare my queer sense
of style at six, a scarf wrapped rakishly
about my neck, a front-zipped one-piece
playsuit, a pair of cherry Keds sans socks.
My first boyfriend reminds me on facebook
how we showered together the summer
after 8th grade—my breasts little birds then—
but didn’t touch. You were like a cat, he says,
entertaining, but aloof. Snap beads
were those jelly-bean colored plastic orbs
that us girlfriends made into necklaces or anklets
and gave one another. We were in love
but didn’t know it. I didn’t really know much then.
But if you do remember snap beads, you will recall
that each one had both male and female connections.