Ellen Meyers

Crossing Over

Blank stares, hair twirls, insecure thoughts
Were all she had left of adolescence.
She could see the gray hairs, the arthritis, and the frown lines ahead of her,
But they were hidden underneath, barely wrinkling the surface.

Her mind danced around that word, trying to make sense of it.
You think that high school would have taught her what “adulthood” actually means.
Instead, her teachers force-fed her vocabulary and concepts that were meaningless,
And when they weren’t looking, she spit them out, disgusted.
Meanwhile, friends, prom, and graduation lingered behind,
And “adulthood” stood right in front of her,
Taunting her to come and play.

She swayed back and forth, debating on what she should do.
According to society, crossing over is mandatory.
She knew she had to…eventually.
But not too soon.

She sighed, smoothing her silky hair out of her face
This “adulthood” could not wait anymore for her…
Or could it?


Copyright © 2002-2011 Student Publishing Program (SPP). Poetry and prose © 2002-2011 by individual authors. Reprinted with permission.