Coming Back to Life

I gave up on poetry,
the cross country team,
the idealism of cloth diapers,
and the defiance of being
the flat-chested girl,
on the infant bird fallen
from the branch.

Now I have lists:
celery, milk, sage, pharmacist, therapy.

These are not the end.

But where is the girl
who loved anyway
who built cardboard tree houses
in the snow?