Poetry
1 min
Dear Childhood Me
Sophia Han
Dear first grade me,
you read picture books,
your parents are your world
I'll show you our future
but for now you're still a girl
You're looking out the window
driving down the Golden Gate
The first time you realize the world's
bigger than San Jose
The persimmons in your backyard
are the same size as your palm
You learn your parents' have real names
that aren't "Dad" and "Mom"
Fourth grade me, you're not as shy
You're learning self defense
Remember all the playground games—
your classmates will forget
You write the date on all your work
already you can sense
it'll kill you when you have to speak of
childhood
in past tense
You haven't crafted a mud pie in weeks
Now you're learning to cook
One day you stop writing on napkins
and start writing in books
Last month you went rollerblading,
it's the last time that you do
Today you put down your doll
Next week you'll pack up your flute
Dear eighth grade me, you're not blind
Things fall apart, I won't pretend
as if all my worst enemies
won't first be your best friends
Twelfth grade me, you work so hard
In every room you are aware
you're one of the brightest students
Now I forget why you cared
That girl you eat at lunch with
goes to college with you too
I describe her to my roommates
as "somebody I once knew"
Made everyone sign a yearbook
That I haven't opened since
Promised to hang out in summer
never heard from him again
And the final school bell echoes
You're terrified because you know
You're not sad you'll miss each other
You're sad that soon you won't
Dear childhood me, each time I see you
I'm afraid it'll be our last
It shakes me that I'm writing of you
as a thing of the past
My parents are driving home
The world is bigger than San Jose
And I saw both of them cry
For the first time yesterday
I still know you, I still am you
I catch a glimpse of your face
In my reflection
Out the window
of my new home
In L.A.
We Love Sharing Stories
Select a story