Friday, November 7, 2008

Seven and Twenty-two

I have imaginary conversations with myself at age seven
Just to make sure we’re still the same person, deep down
Hopping like a rabbit,
Stockings on her head for ears,
She says she can’t understand why I took journalism
But is happy I still write fiction
Turns her nose up at my girly ruffled skirt
But approves of my boyish haircut.

On lazy Saturday afternoons
We watch cartoons together
Eating the cold, leftover pizza
That has always been abundant in my house
I advise her on which books to read
And she chatters on about her crush on my fiancé.

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