By Lucy R.

in kindergarten i broke my leg

sat in a wheelchair bigger than me 

for two months,

although it seemed like eternity and beyond.

i was laid across a cold metal table in a room that smelled like paper-mache

with neon wraps of fabric and was asked to choose my favorite color.

i always felt different from my classmates in kindergarten

maybe because i was the new girl

maybe because i was focused on becoming president instead of the next taylor swift, 

but in reality,

I wore the same blue smock with bloomers underneath,

watched the same princess movies as the other girls, 

and i was one of three lucys in my class.

a large man peeled layers of wrap off my leg

and placed wet squares of cast 

and wrapped it in a dark purple. 

purple was always my favorite color, 

the color of my highchair when i was a baby,

the color of my first bike when home became new orleans,

gallo pinto became red beans and rice

and winter became summer-

year round,

no more ohio snow, 

no more costa rica mountains,

no more stories from nana every night before bed.

i used the elevator every day for the rest of the semester that year

watched my classmates’ faces of jealousy as the door slid closed,

so I picked a new friend to ride the elevator with me each day.

I loved the power I had with my injury

became queen over the other two lucys

traded a ride in the elevator for french braids every recess

and hello kitty stickers over my wheelchair. 

i’m weaker in my right leg, 

thanks to my kindergarten misfortune, 

although most of the time i feel weak everywhere

from running away from things

from holding up other people

from planning my future

and sometimes i don’t know how much longer i can go

before my legs give out.