Dusty shoeboxes of family photos
that I sat down to look at
with depressing nostalgia.
infant's first pictures
in hospital clothing with closed eyes
and rosy skin.
Bare-butted babies sitting in Nan's tub
with their very own bubble beards.
Frightened toddlers sitting on the lap
of different men with spikey facial hair
under their fake fluffy beards
and glassy eyes behind wired bifocals
who called themselves Santa.
Trick-or-treat nights over the years
where our mother had the devil for a son,
a purple fairy princess, and a witch.
First day of first grade
in my pretty orange dress
and cut across homemade bangs.
Summer afternoons with finger paints
and chocolate pudding,
both used to make artwork out of each other.
Hundreds upon thousands
of school photos with plastered smiles
and worried, often blinking, eyes.
I shut the box and then dived into thoughts
of my growing anxiety about growing myself.
I'm no longer that naked baby.
God only knows what would happen
if I showed up to high school dressed as a purple fairy princess
and my orange dress, it doesn't fit me anymore.
Time is coming to make decisions that will make my life
and if I make a mistake, I can't just shake to erase
and etch-a-sketch a new plan.