That Little Girl (Sometimes I am Still)

Words that I once thought wonderful are now clichéd, insufficient.

Like nostalgia, remember, unconventional, imagine.

But what better word than nostalgia to describe that

sometimes I am still that little girl who smells the fresh-cut grass

in September, not July, and remembers riding my pink tricycle

up and down the sidewalk in my white shirt, white shorts and yellow rubber boots

with one of the one hundred and one Dalmatians on the outside of each so that I could remember which foot to put them on

all while dad cut the grass.

And what else can I say but unconventional to describe that little girl

and how she played with cowboys and indians and micro machines and dinky cars

and lincoln logs, paddle boards; digging tiger traps, inventing peanut butter machines

picking up worms, writing messages in the snow for aliens to see and warn them to stay away.

Sometimes I am still that little girl who imagines that there are monsters inside the garage

and runs a little faster looking over her shoulder just to make sure

or imagines that there is a boogeyman in the basement who makes the sump-pump go off and will pull you down if you stand too close

just because the thrill of the fear is so strong that it excites and delights.

Sometimes I am still that little girl who despises goodbyes because that can mean goodbye forever.

But not all goodbyes are forever and this is just one of those little ones where I’ll see you soon again

and you ought to know that goodbye is only hard because I love you.

Tags: Adulthood, Childhood, Growing up, Kids, Life, Poems, Poetry, When I was young..., Writers, Writing