Picture Day, First Grade
This photo still evokes in me,
forty-five years later, a frail
sorrow–the little girl wanting
only to get it right, to do it well.
The arched rainbow design
on the dress I picked myself.
The hair disheveled as always
because mom left for work so early
and dad claimed no skill at hairdos.
My tooth missing, my smile unsure,
unconvincing. Sometimes when
I can’t sleep, I look at that photo
in my mind’s eye and whisper,
“You’re doing great. Nothing
you are doing is wrong. I love you.”
It’s nice to imagine little me
hearing that future me thinks of
this day so often, how I didn’t
understand why I felt so wrong.
Standing in the gymnasium,
waiting my turn to be photographed,
the thin black comb they handed out
only to the kids who had
something to fix.
*
Julie Barton is the New York Times Bestselling author of Dog Medicine, How My Dog Saved Me From Myself (Penguin, 2016). She publishes a poem every day at juliebarton.substack.com and can be found online at juliebarton.com. Her poems have appeared in The South Carolina Review, Caduceus, Art Place at Yale Medical School.
Love this poem so much, especially for those who are learning to reparent themselves, that small child still there, inside – unseen and unheard. The line about the black comb – so powerful! Brava Julie! This is why we read and write poetry.
Oh, that last line!
I have that school photo in your photo archive. I look at that sweet, kind smile and loving and beautiful brown eyes and just want to give you a reassuring hug. Love, your mom
I love this so much, and I completely relate to it. Congratulations on getting this poem published.
You have captured a moment in past time that so many of us lived through Julie, that painful awkwardness. Such an important reminder to our younger self: You’re doing great. Nothing you are doing is wrong. I love you. Just wish I’d heard those words back then but now is just right. thank you xoxo
“the thin black comb” Lovely. Congratulations Julie.