I am shorter than I will become, with greasy hair.
I open my Bugs Bunny coloring book and show the page where my crayon marks have stayed inside every line — except the ones I colored over on purpose.
Outlines, to cover the template, to make it my own. Pink along Bugs’ tongue. Orange along the carrot. Blue along his jacket sleeves. Dark strokes. I pressed hard.
The next page is the one my brother just did. He didn’t color the outlines–he left the black untouched. His faint strokes filled each shape like unspilled milk.
“Vote,” I say. “Which one?” I ask. Grandma, Grandpa, Mom, Dad, Uncle Burk, Aunt Ruth all follow my order. They answer my question. Unanimously.
Schmutzie over at Schmutzie.com is writing a poem a day for all of 2013. Today at lunch I sat down to catch up on reading them. I got to January 13th when I realized, I need to slow down. Her work is good. Really good. Like, so good that I’m kind of embarrassed to be posting what I just wrote. I’d like to take the time to be more articulate than this, but I’m three hours behind schedule.