[return to Contents Page]
7th grade--she was different
from us girls at the school bus stop. She was brand name; we were generic.
She was wavy hair, cute nose and self-possessed.
Most of us still were baby fat and self-conscious. Boys would cluster and speak
in hushed tones all while casting furtive glances at her, and so would we.
Something told me that her being the first of us to have breasts had everything
in the world to do with it.
a bee slips into the cup
of a tulip