My first crush was Olaf.
I was six . . .
in Sister Mary Charlotta’s class . . .
with a heart not versed enough
to know I could never whisper his name
with anything resembling passion.
It mattered not that his chubbiness
pushed his stomach over the waist
of his navy blue uniform pants.
Who cared if his hair was cut so close
to his head that pink patches of scalp
peeked through when he sat in light
Or that vestiges of yellow mustard
colored the corners of his mouth
after a good lunch?
What mattered was
Olaf walked with me to the library
and opened the weighty wooden doors . . .
Offering me a world always glistening in
brilliant light, decorated with rows
upon inviting rows of books—
All cheerful spined and intriguing covered—
welcoming me to choose one
and discover another story.
Olaf was a Casanova.
Oh, what true ecstasy!
Kahleen A. Dorholt
NaPoWriMo 2020
April 29, 2020
A Little Lift of Lemon Drops! 