Leaving at 17 to Get Married
arlene s bice
I leave behind my girlish bedroom,
all pink and burgundy,
but no frilliness, never was a frilly girl.
I take with me the memory of a little girl \
sleeping/hiding behind a big Panda Bear.
I leave behind the bed of my youth,
where I dreamed my dreams,
crying out in the night, because it was scary.
I take with me memories of measles, medicine,
junket and a small green plastic radio.
I leave behind my boudoir chair,
maple bones sticking out,
here and there, a great reading chair.
I take with me the memory of re-dressing it
with wine-colored cotton stripes.
I leave behind my closet full,
out-grown styles worn,
in high school, wool plaids/tight sweaters.
I take with me the memory of pretty, silver,
feathered mules, impossible to walk in.
I leave behind my bureau,
the mirror adorned with cards,
and dried corsages, from high school dances.
I take with me the memory of the gym,
transformed by magic of fairy dust.
I leave behind the windows,
curtains of merlot matching,
the painted floor, round rug kept my feet warm.
I take with me the sound of the tree rustling
against screen, my personal weatherman.
I leave behind walls of pink,
once covered with pictures,
of movie stars, some were even signed to me.
I take with me memories of Friday nights
with the girls, looking for the boys.
Good-bye little room, you held me in comfort
as I grew, in the first book of the trilogy,
now it is time for the second book.
