My First Poetry Collection

When I was sixteen

My mother

Jumped to the conclusion that I was a nymphomaniac

Just because I slept with a man

And wrote anguished poetry about it

In longhand

While sunbathing on the roof of our apartment building.

Too bad I couldn’t keep that notebook

Full of deeply embarrassing images.

In case I should ever feel snooty

Or superior

Reading those poems would keep me humble.

As it was my mother found the book

And threw it down the incinerator chute

A very aspirational act of destruction

As if burning the poems would change

My trajectory.

Which of course it didn’t

Not in the very least.

About Karen To and Fro

Everything you didn't want to know about me!
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