Poem: Fort Builder

I am a fort builder of cushions and sheets
I stole the plywood from the garage and nailed it to the tree

I am the girl who spattered lavender paint on her new jeans for school
I am that one

I am that girl who made extra money picking berries,
babysitting, and watching cats

I was that girl who carried her gaming marbles
in a purple velvet Crown Royal bag at recess

I am the fourth grade girl who, it was rumored, picked up
Rodney Grange over her head and threw him down the hill

I am the girl who endured long Sunday drives
second hand smoking with you and Paul Harvey

I am the girl who walked with you around the muddy edge of Doyle Pond
It’s soft cat-tailed ground rewarded us with leaches

I am the girl who watched you deal pills of all colors
in between our classes from your locker next to mine

I am that girl who had no cliques to sit with at 8th grade lunch
I sat at crowded tables in 9th
I found stairs outside to eat on in 10th
I drove off campus in 11th
I no longer cared in 12th

I was that girl who wore her gray leather boots everyday

I am that girl you shared stolen apricot brandy with
at an Auburn dance club parking lot one night

I was that girl you had between the ones you wanted
That neighbor girl you thought you had to trick to touch

I am the girl who builds forts

***

Published by

Shannon Laws

Shannon P. Laws, born in Seattle, Washington, lives and writes in the Pacific Northwest. Author of three poetry books, "Madrona Grove", "Odd Little Things", and "Fallen" and an audiobook of her select mid-life dating satire poems, "You Love Me, Your Love Me Not". For seven years she produced award-winning community radio programs that promoted the PNW music/art community. Shannon's other interests include operating her voice-over company, Chickadee Productions, and Poetry Club. Since 2015 Poetry Club is dedicated to the neighborhood discussion and sharing of poetry.

5 thoughts on “Poem: Fort Builder”

    1. Thank you Susan for sharing it. Confessions are like trips to the dentist, when the sharp ends touch the sore gums. I like your idea of doing a “Witness” poem- instead of the “I” and “I am” statements, starting with “I saw”. Thinking on that today.

      Liked by 1 person

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