a Sunday morning kind of girl,
making chocolate chip pancakes
and blasting ABBA through open windows,
spinning in circles as the morning saturates.

I am still the dancing queen,
a year and some over seventeen,
but young and sweet nevertheless–
semi-sweet morsels sinking softly
into smooth batter.

Maybe life after this won’t always be
sickly sweet, licking the spatula
for the sugar– maybe it will have to be
leaving the kitchen, turning off the radio,
shutting the windows, learning to stand still.

But I will keep singing
the dizzy dream of my 18th summer
and this will be my song
playing over and over,
even past sunset.