PICTURES WITH DIANE

Look at me, Mom.
I'm the one on the bike
too short to pedal

the one who smiles
with her mouth open,
not holding anything back.

I'm not like my cousin,
haven't learned yet
to tilt my head
and smile winningly.

It's funny how, now,
I seem the leader.
I wasn't, not with Diane,
not with anyone.
And I looked up to her

all through school,
ever since you told me
I don't know how many times:
Diane does this, when
will you do this?

Well, at last I can see
what Diane does.
If only I'd seen in time

if I'd just remembered these
when you swore again and again
it was me, not her you loved,
I might have believed you.

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Copyright © 1997 by Rochelle Ratner.

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