I was born with a pink dress waiting for me,
the color Jackie O wore to her fateful parade,
the satin peeled off my back 
after pictures of my birth were taken.
 
With consciousness 
came my longing 
for carousel unicorns,
peanut-covered bananas,
and later in my childhood,
the tetherball court
where children shrieked 
in vibrant clothing,
my mother pulling my hand
away from the playground,
my mother,
who fled communism,
carrying gold and diamonds 
I had never seen,
except in the gleam of her eyes
when she told me her stories.
                        

I am late to the party,
to the mayhem,
the Midori Sour
making me squint,
the chill,
the neon green.

I am late to the party,
because nobody 
is waiting for me,
no teacher 
to nod at me 
for showing up.

I am late for the party,
clutching a Hello Kitty notebook
with the words
"Work saves the soul"
scribed in curved blue letters.