By Jeanie Greensfelder – A Poem for Aaron
Your body betrays you.
You sweat, smell, and get pimples. One day
you wake up and you’re someone else.
My grandson will go to middle school this fall.
He calls it that place for hairy brutes,
At his fifth grade graduation, ten and
eleven year olds fidget and look around.
Girls wear pretty sundresses.
Some boys wear suits and some wear shorts.
My grandson chose shorts and a tuxedo t-shirt.
They describe their time in grade school—
a hike up a mountain, a roller coaster ride,
a painting that changes who you are,
an earthquake with aftershocks,
a beehive with honey and stings,
chapters in the book of your life,
a coral reef with sardines and sharks,
boot-camp for the middle school army.
Later, at the picnic, parents celebrate
this passage while classmates celebrate
summer: water bottles become squirt guns
and the chase is on. For today,