When did I stop dreaming
Was it that time I crushed my fist into my sister's back, finally unleashed? "You don't know your own strength." I'm learning now. Maybe, it was the morning in sixth grade choir when I scratched at my scalp and a nervous glace found them laughing and "Oh my god." "Look at that girl." Was it my first wary steps into a creaky classroom across the street from gang-torn houses, manuals open, copies made, without doubt or question? It can't be. I know, I was still dreaming when she called out, "I'm HERE!" and made me Mama. I saw her curls all grown and bouncing, he and I holding hands beside her. Still, not mine. Still not me.