I have missed me,
since I was twelve.

When there were dragons
in the lawn clippings,
fairies in my grandmother's petunias.

I rumpled myself into her long gowns, things she wore when
she was young and smiling in black and white.
I wore them over pavement, was always barefoot
in the evening grass, orange-tinted by falling sun.
My toes splayed in its coolness and I imagined
roots forever, crawling, growing, twisting
into another world.

A world where there were no drunks,
and family didn't scream at one another and
little girls weren't picked on for being fat
and
mother and father were kings and queens and
happy and in love and
no one cried.
No one cried.

I have missed me,
I have no more gowns.
My lawn is a lawn is a lawn and I
catch myself
dreaming.