An Armful of Roses

My friends gave me a wonderful send-off,
Gave me roses and took me to the plane.
I’m on my way to my new home.
I wonder how it will be
My new home in the South.
Here I am, a Yankee, and smart enough,
Broad-minded and wise for my years,
Will they be impressed?
I’m dressed like a college girl,
A preppy look, classic.
I can write, and sing, and be funny.
I’ve been around, to New York and Chicago,
Sophisticated, talented, not some country bumpkin.
They’ll like me, won’t they?

***
My friends,
they gave me long-stemmed roses
as they put me on the plane.
I feel like a celebrity, like someone special.
I’m holding the roses like some beauty queen,
and maybe I should feel silly, but I don’t.
I cradle them in my arms all the long flight to Georgia,
poised, regal, self-assured.

I don’t know what to feel.
No, I’m not scared exactly.
I’m excited. It will all be so new, so different.
so exciting. No, I’m not scared.
What is there to be afraid of?
I’m smart, and friendly,
likable even. Wise beyond my years,
and sophisticated, not some country bumpkin.
I’ve been to the big cities, to Chicago and New York.
They’ll be impressed, won’t they?
And I’m smart. I’ll fit in okay.
I can sing in the choir, and play in the band,
just like at home. I’ll make friends.
They’ll like me, won’t they?

***
Fifteen, looking eighteen,
striving so hard for poise and calm,
leaving behind the friends, the little pond:
the under-appreciated,
enormous value of being known,
Cradling her roses, head high,
striking a pose, grasping at the past
to reassure herself a future.
Moving into the black night too quickly,
hoping that poise and brains
will be enough to carry it off.
Hoping, hoping.
Clutching her roses,
head buried in the blossoms,
shoes off, crying.