Leaving her Behind

It should come naturally, after my training and practice,
after all, my first shoulder-blade-stretching-departure came early.
I loved her so, I made my mother find me that same
pink-polka-dotted dress she wore on our first day of Montessori,
when I was in coveralls.

When it was time to pick up and move, I was less than five,
but determined I would miss her, forever.
Then, birthday after birthday, I pushed past
the pink and white dress in the closet, not wanting to wear it alone,
until one year, it didn’t fit anymore, so I gave it to my sister.

Since that first exit, I have learned to advance rapidly
looking ahead at least three moves, assuming that
whatever it is I have already doesn’t fit anymore.
This way, I will never again pine as I did for that girl.

What was her name? Maybe it was Stephanie.

Roheeni Saxena

If you have any comments on this poem, Roheeni Saxena would be pleased to hear from you.

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