American Girl

I roll past the same ramp
opposite the entrance that was the first door that opened my life to this new world
and grin at the ten year old in her baby blue skirt,
white puffy sleeves,
showing off her mother’s gold chain adorned round her neck,
equipped with a well full of dreams of new friends and school lunches
where she would pretend to be grown up and gossip under the bright yellow sun.

I can’t help but repeat the same story to my husband;
he finishes the the sentences–that’s how often he’s heard it.

I don’t care though,
arriving at Dulles International October of 1990
will forever remain tattooed to my eyes.
The silent ride to my aunt’s house on 495;
the absence of crowds and cows on the roads;
the neutral scent of nothingness.

My first steps as an American girl–my favorite memory
and he will hear it every time we pass this lovely gray ramp!

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