Deeply Personal

this is the first of what became an unintentional series of three poems that i wrote in college. as i sat back and read these this morning, i could still feel the uncomfortable shedding of childhood mingle with the grating assumption of adulthood in the series.

i live inside a box called “Casual.”

it’s perfectly square,

with padded walls,

fuzzy sky blue carpet, and

a big red thinking chair like my sixth grade teacher used to have.

i also have this blue checkered blanket with my name on it.

it says “Joanna,”

and it’s warm.

that’s my Casual Box.

i left it for a year,

thinking that i was

living and

breathing and

blowing away the remnants of my childhood,

being an adult.

i was bruised,

beat up,

messed up in the head,

and came back to the box,

bloodied.

then it became my nursing box.

only girls—

NO BOYS ALLOWED!!!

because they played too rough.

but one slipped by the male detector before I could

release the hounds.

i fought him and fought him,

with good reason and

with pleas and

with nonsense.

but happily he won,

and now he resides with me

in what is now the Comfortable Box.

now, my box is a cylinder

with room for volleyball,

computer science and

something having to do with “ginyu forces.”

but that is all.

and I find myself wanting to

punch holes in the walls of my box,

to let in fresh air,

to breathe new sunlight.

and i want to take him with me.

instead of poking with a pin,

i demand more style

and want to use a flame-thrower,

turning my confines into soot.

but he embraces structure

and would instead change

with the aid of a compass and fine tooth comb.

so, until the two meet,

i’ll do my best to enjoy the box.