Only Fourteen
When I was fourteen, I loved orange.
I painted my bedroom tangerine.
When I was fourteen, I also loved
a seventeen-year-old
guy named Drew.
Every day of my fourteenth year,
Mom said, “You’re only fourteen!”
at least two or three times.
I didn’t think I’d ever reach fifteen.
Because of my love for orange, Drew and I
painted his MGB orange but didn’t wear masks.
For about a week, we blew orange into tissues.
Our relationship lasted on and off for four years.
After his dad died, we painted his living room orange.
I celebrated such abundance of orange.
I would have been happy if the whole world
was monochromatic in shades of orange.
I guess you can say I saw everything
through orange-colored glasses.
Even to this day, the color orange
reminds me of those teen years.
And I often think, “I was only fourteen.”
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