When I was nine I dressed up as Athena for
Halloween. My mother helped me make my
Costume; a short white robe worn over
Long johns, my laurel wreath
Some greenery tied with a
White headband around my
Bobbed dark hair.
We wrapped a
Garbage can lid with tinfoil for my
Shield, removed an old broom from its
Stick and wrapped its edge with
Tin foil for my spear. I tied a kerchief around my
Knee as a raffish trademark. As my school
Paraded down Broadway I struck
Warrior poses, leaping out at the
Spectators, spearing with one arm,
Raising my shield with the other for I hadn’t
Lashed my anger against myself yet.
When I was ten I broke my arm
Falling from a log in summer camp.
Arm in cast I could no longer be
Active, I could no longer outrun
Depression. For Halloween I wore a
Romantic black gown and
Languished as Ophelia, too
Sapped of drive to hand out flowers though I
Wanted to, and did so in my
Imagination. The next year I was too
Depressed to dress up as anyone.
