I remember the happiest moments of my life,
cherry-picked, freeze-dried and
stored by my subconscious, round and shiny
like Christmas ***** where I can see myself,
distorted but still smiling,
freckles in the same places, me but not me,
moments where love overflows from cooking pots
on Thanksgiving
and the steam of family dysfunction
rises to the ceiling, peaks, dissipates,
and when I leave the kitchen for a seat at the kids' table
I forget it, and later
the smell is washed from my hair by a pair of caring hands,
perhaps not so caring
if they are my own, and I squeeze my eyes shut
so the soap won't get in
but it does sometimes and I don't cry and I feel
like a warrior, perpetually battling the unfair,
like why am I the one with glasses,
why can't you eat ice cream before dinner,
why do grownups get to stay up so late?
downstairs drinking wine and spilling stories,
moments from the beach that day, sand and salt
hidden in unlikely places, sticky fingers, joyful exhaustion,
golden laughter of seeing cousins,
dreams and seaweed tangled in my hair,
dyed pink in high school but only an inner layer,
a half-hearted rebellion,
maybe the hair equivalent of a post-it note saying
notice me! but please don't judge me.