by Terry Fletcher

Girl Scout Camp circa 1970

My bunk mates and I all agreed to take off our shirts and compare breast
size.

None of us had much, but I had less than anyone.

“You’re flat!” they said as they examined my chest. ”You’re like a boy.”

I felt proud, like I’d won the grand prize.

I sure wish I felt that way now.


Rope

I climbed down to the beach today.
Worried, as usual.

What if its too hard?
What if I’m too tired?
What if I’m not strong enough?
What if its too cold?
What if I fall?
What if I can’t make it back? Will they know where I am? Will they be able
to find me? Should I really be doing this?

But then there was a rope.
I held it and it held me.
The rope didn’t slip.
The rope didn’t break.
The rope took me all the way down to the beach.

It wasn’t too cold.
I wasn’t too tired.
I didn’t fall.

I sat on the beach and cried with relief.
Maybe things are gonna be OK after all.

 

October 2002