I think I will be shy forever.
I stutter when I answer the phone -
Sister Ann’s fifth grade classroom all over again.
I sweat a lot.
I believe I will catch something dangerous from the front row.
I have never given anyone the finger.
Would you believe me if I told you I have never even thought about it?
I am awful at opening presents in front of my aunt.
Suddenly, she has twelve eyes instead of two.
I feel sometimes like the social equivalent of
something
single-celled
and slow-moving.
I concentrate on my plate at dinner.
I may be a stretch of silent pavement, but my insides are the accident scene.
Shy is not a shoe size,
not a souvenir t-shirt for me.
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4 comments:
The repetition of "I" works beautifully. As you dismantle it in the last stanza, I think that the speaker moves away from his/her self consciousness--a healthy move.
i loved this poem strout! the lines that really stood out to me were "I am awful at opening presents in front of my aunt.
Suddenly, she has twelve eyes instead of two." i completely know where you are coming from with that. i am the same exact way!
A confession in return:
I adore you and I think you are a wonderful lady. And your writing is beautiful.
You are more than a shy lady who on occasion stutters. You are the safe zone for hundreds of kids who on a daily basis have to play tag with reality and hurt. I have never met a kinder woman in my life.
Miss Amanda,
I will continue to work hard to live up to your beautiful compliment. "Thank you" does not begin to express my gratitude. <3
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