miss january

Hanging on your wall, downstairs in your basement room, or perhaps still in your backpack, or on your desk, in a pile and a flurry of other things, is the calendar that my dad made for you for Christmas 2013.  

I wonder if you will hang it up, or if you will keep it someplace private and quiet.  I wonder how often you will look at it, and how you will feel when you see the pictures.  I wonder who else you will tell about it.  

*(My dad gave my boyfriend a calendar full of pictures from me.  As he opened it, he wouldn't show it to me at first, and I assumed the worst-- embarrassing childhood photos. But no, it was nicely done, with pretty quotations and recent photographs.  What a sweet gesture.)

Is it not good news?  Is not all good news so personal, a father saying, "Look, this is my daughter.  Is she not lovely?"  

I told you that it felt like a twelve-month lease.  You laughed because you couldn't help it, you were shocked into explosion.  I always like it when that happens.  I like seeing your insides out, a truth you can't help telling.