“You’ve grown”

Increments specked across a
patronizing white
stadiometer indicate
that as seasons passed
and branches turned
betrothed,
brittle,
barebones
of mine
stretched
And my joints rewired.
now, I’m an eighth of
an inch more
than what I used
to be.

“I’ve grown”

Grown into the
soles
of shoes my toes
never quite touch
the tip of it all -
through the
tying
then
untying
of laces
I stay bound to the size I’ve succumbed to
and yet,
I am growing.

growing at a static stand still
silently shouting soft, similar songs
and sulking in the soliloquies of simpler times.

“We’ve grown”

Skin stretched
knuckles knocked
we retreat to a
retrospective view,
when the sun could not burn us
quite so well
and the specks,
freckles then,
served as
subtle refuge
from
goosebumps,
giggles,
and the giddy echo of
youth.

I
look
to my
little sister.
“She’s grown!”

I proclaim,
astounded at how her
eyes now meet mine; she is
sweeter and stronger
than she was,
so I let her
coming-of-age
slip my mind
because small sisters
and saccharine safeties
make me short again.
Waning
Whispers
Warn me
We were girls then
and
Women tomorrow
and
somehow,

I am growing
—still.