A WARNING TO MY PARENTS
(January, 1970)

Okay, I've come home
for the weekend.
I stand on the porch
and let you take my picture
wearing my new grey coat --
the first time in years
I've cared about looking good.
But I'm warning you,
one false move
and this new gold scarf
will strangle me.

No, that's the way I felt
a year ago.
But it's hard to change.
At home now I feel
on such tentative ground --
do I really have friends,
are my poems really
finding acceptance,
or is this some hoax
to make me want to live
a little longer?

I'm living alone in New York
in a cheap hotel
and I'll stay there
till a prostitute's murdered
next door to me.
Next month I'll get colitis
and have to stay in bed
week after week,
just like I got sick
that first year in high school,
because the people are new
and I'm testing them to see
how much they care.
And how much you care --
whether you really mean it
when you say all that matters
is that I'm happy.

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Copyright © 1997 by Rochelle Ratner.

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