Calico Frost

Each poem

each message

deleted

one

after

the other.

The words don't flow freely anymore,

now slow and sticky

not flying out my fingers in their regular way.

I can't make it work

The day I lost my youth completely

the sweet scent of childhood

swept away by the sharp,

tangy,

sensation of adolescence.

I have chased after my hopes and dreams

As my parents would put it,

in a funk.

As my friends would put it,

depressed

or

tired.

How I put it,

aware of real life and frustrated and upset.

At first, it is boring

irritating

because I don't want to be there.

But quickly

as I enter the woods

the cool, damp springy air

tinted with the scent of ferns that lie on either side of the trail.

Planning

Every day

Every chance that is given

Scheduling

Organizing RSVPs

Bugging people to respond.

Talking to the caterer -

We can have bourekas after all -

And studying

I slip through the house

tiptoeing through the hallways that loom over my sensitive ears

I enter the kitchen

where a pitcher of lemonade is sitting on the counter.

Yes.