It seems only yesterday I used to believe in
monsters in the closet,
imaginary friends and tea parties,
the shelter of my tree house,
kisses as cures of bumps and bruises,
and tiaras that crowned me, Princess.
Gazing out my window today
it seems I doubt more than believe.
I hang my head and as I do
I trace with my finger
the aged scar on my knee
from a kickball game in my backyard.
And once again, I believe.