I have measured out my life
in bumper stickers.
Like my dear sardonic Ezra,
there is a beautiful counting in the things I have gathered
since I was 16.
Each colorful rectangle a tangible piece
of the path I have trod.
This one from a road trip with my mother
that one from a faraway place I gave my heart to
another from a team that taught me how to be.
I have measured my life out
in bumper stickers
and they will tell my tale
the tale of a 16 year old, heady with the responsibility of a new car
and a new freedom
an intoxicating poppy trail of newness
the tale of a soon-to-be-freshman-again
drunk with the moments of homesickness and the wheels that ease that pain
the tale of an almost-broke-post-grad
still in the midst of writing
changed, to be sure, from that heady girl with too many borrowed sweatshirts
and a back seat full of heart break
but adding, nonetheless
So how should I presume?
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