five senses

Kindergarten sounded like 
small voices singing
together on the bus, 
a brunette next to a blonde. 

First grade tasted like 
ghorme sabzi that my mom makes, 
and the bitterness in my mouth
after the other kids made fun of my 
foreign food. 

Second grade looked like 
cards in a calendar, 
flipping a different one each day, 
the look of polyester on the chalkboard.

Third grade smelled like 
Elmers glue and old magazines, 
the shick shick of the scissors as 
they cut through the shapes. 

Fourth grade felt like 
the rush of adrenaline you get 
when the teacher starts the timer on 
your times tables, racing through
so you could get to the next number. 

Fifth grade was a blur 
of memories and cloudy days, 
fight between friends 
and arguments, 

Sixth grade tasted like 
stale airplane air and 
my grandmothers house, 
like hours spent in cramped cabins
and family get togethers that 
lasted through the night. 

Seventh grade was 
fireworks and spinning amusement 
park rides, and dark rooms 
dancing with people, 
and the thump thump of feet on the track, 

and eight grades almost over, 
everything is almost done, 
but I'll remember the smiles and 
the deep belly laughs, 
the all-nighters preparing for tests and 
cross country meets with my friends, 
I'll remember the dances, 
all the memories I made, 
I'll remember the people who left me 
and all the ones who stayed, 
and I'll remember all of the feelings, 
good, bad, and in between, 
I'll try to be a better person, 

and now it's time to walk into the future, 
taking lessons from my past, 
it's time to find out what I have in me, 
It's time to go out with a blast.