Katharine Hepburn, I wish I could learn how you managed to take a man by the hand—hold him close to your side and still speak your mind in vowels so aristocratic and grand. And tell me, Jo March, did you think yourself harsh when you said, “No, I can’t go be a wife. I’ll just write about dances and late-night romances, but more importantly, piracy, shipwrecks, and strife.” If I’m crazy for him, am I losing my steel? If I’m not, could it mean I forgot how to feel without thinking I’m shrinking away from the call of a girl who stands tall but still knows how to fall? Mary Poppins, did you think of stopping for Bert between spoonfuls of sugar and carpetbag spells, or were you surprised by the way that it hurt to lift your umbrella and bid him farewell? If I’m crazy for him, am I losing my steel? If I’m not, could it mean I forgot how to feel without thinking I’m shrinking away from the call of a girl who stands tall but still knows how to fall? As, Penelope, you wove Odysseus home, did you sigh and say, “Someday, I, too, want to roam”? When he returned, did you feel your heart burn and say, “Now he’s come back, and I have come home”? If I’m crazy for him, am I losing my steel? If I’m not, could it mean I forgot how to feel without thinking I’m shrinking away from the call of a girl who stands tall but still knows how to fall? Oh, I’m thinking I’m shrinking away from the call of a girl who stands tall but still knows how to fall.