Re-Inventing Myself

If you meet me, I will be

the one with the pink camellia.

This is not the way I am

in person, I am much thinner.

This hair harks back to the days

of my grandmothers, not mentioned

are six passions looking for an exit

and the shyness others don't believe.

My uncles are railroad men

and with my father—watermelon

politicians. I have saved their seeds,

little recognitions. Slogans

and a catcher's mitt I keep by

my side are family heirlooms

from world wars. I am somewhat

younger than you can tell. This

voice wishes upon a star. I don't

accept pain, refuse delivery.

I want you to believe me,

my poems are almost true.

Even though I am not much

for ornamentation, if you meet

me, I will be the one with

the pink camellia.

Gail Howard Clark