You only want to do what you think is right.
Close your eyes and then it's past;
Story of my life"
-- Social Distortion, Story of My Life
I turn 3 years old.
White-blond hair and a rainbow striped shirt.
My mother's technicolor smile.
I turn 6 years old.
A green tricycle with a small orange reflector sticker,
rumbling down the sidewalk in Rockville Centre.
I turn 8 years old.
Next to the jade chess set, a china dish of multi-colored crystal sugar,
No one sees me lick my index finger and dip it in.
I turn 9 years old.
A menagerie of glass creatures, kiss them all goodnight,
The whole house smells like kasha in the morning, as I shuffle down the stairs.
But it didn't matter. The cherry tree in the front yard was great for climbing.
My hands grip dark bark branches.
I turn 11 years old.
I walk Heather every day after school; Carolyn Landes' dog, a Westie.
We talk for a while in her kitchen, a linoleum floor
She pushes a crisp dollar bill into my hand
After Mrs. Landes died, I kept walking the dog, but Mr. Landes, he was quiet.
I turn 12 years old.
My skateboard is orange and black, and it wobbles as I begin the downhill.
Wobbles become violent shakes, and I don't have a chance.
The asphalt burns my elbows and knees.
I turn 15 years old.
The Doors on the giant screen;
popcorn and sticky floors, and we're in the back row
She tastes like cigarettes and cinammon chewing gum.
I turn 17 years old.
Salted beach air through open windows.
"Jane says she's done with Sergio;
only knows when someone wants her."
Waves crash in darkness, cold sand, bare feet.
I turn 18 years old.
She sways. Her body wriggles to the music.
Closer and closer. She presses her body against mine.
Her lips brush my neck.