You Hated When I Called You Stinky
(for my sister)
Really, you smelled like fresh
grass and daffodils. Sometimes,
like Cheerios. Your punches
tickled. A delicate pixie,
inventing songs, dancing
in family photos. You were afraid of ants.
You were a flitting faerie princess, and I
the jealous, short-haired tomboy.
I pondered a lot of possible directions for this poem. Should I
talk about all the nicknames I use on my online journal, or maybe the
fact that I've never really had a nickname? Finally, I remembered this
childhood nickname, and the poem sprung out of it.