Lyn Pinkus

      with my little brother who still beats me every time

Plus the bowling pin my best friend, Nina, signed for my twelfth birthday who I miss

     everyday when I am not with her

Minus the red toy truck my little brother threw at me when I was eleven because I ate the

     last chocolate chip muffin

Multiplied by the pile of cookbooks on the third shelf of my bookcase in the far left

     corner of my room that I use to cook something new every Wednesday night

Divided by all the jewelry in the beautiful pink flowery jewelry box I stole from my sister

     because our mom didn’t get me one as pretty

Added onto each of the shiny matching beads my friends and I wore to our first school

     dance in middle school

Squared by my unmade bed which drives my mother crazy every morning

Rounded up from the ugly pink wig I never wore on Halloween, the year I was a witch

     instead of a pixie like my older sister

Taken to the third power for every statue of a fish I own: one for each of my siblings that

     are each unique in the way they let me know they love me

Divided by the purple earrings I never gave to my friend for her birthday because I

     wanted them for myself

Plus my comfy pillow that my dad bought me because I simply asked for one

All inside the circumference of my room, guarded by the door that has endured

     multiple slams whenever I am mad and has never let me down

All equals me: the little girl who is still deathly scared of snakes, broke her leg at ten

     months, has moved six times, and gone to five different schools

And no one knows that I will soon leave again

And leave all these memories behind