There are many worries, but

there are still birthdays—

my twelfth birthday!

There are still friends!

Some have left us—

Anita and Lisa and Irene.

We don’t hear from them,

but we hope they are happy

in their new homes.

We try not to think of other girls

who have disappeared and gone—

we don’t know where.

There are still presents!

My new diary is my favorite.

Now I have two books I love—

my poesiealbum, warm and brown,

full of friends;

and my diary,

with red covers and a snap lock,

empty, private, waiting for secrets.