In my dream, I was young again

i had a dream
and in my dream i was
young again, skin bare
milk hill with no grass,
pixie cut,
bright looming skirt
spinning outside the
prison of 3-day school.
and in my school,
i feared nothing. in my
dream, i was red,
i was more a mouth than
anything else. in my dream
my hand was raised, my
answers crooked and
curved and never in the
multiple choices, but in
my dream i was young again
and i had a swagger to my stride,
a loudness in my declaration:
i am the most beautiful
in the world! and who would
disagree with a child?
they hid their sniggers
as adults do, as adults pack
sniggers in black suitcases
filled with files and nail
cutters and money,
and said goddamn this child,
the most beautiful in the world,
goddamn this child,
i wish i were young again.
i painted my lips with
the dew of santan. i strung
petals into necklaces
and blew kisses to the
wind-whistling wishing flowers
and i wished to grow up,
and grew up, i did.