Saturday, October 5, 2013

I Grew Up


I grew up needing something in my hands
and in my mouth at all times, some textured
thing to contemplate, to savor like a smooth stone
in rip-tide rushing water. I grew up
overwhelmed. I grew up
unaware of all my growing, not sure
where my inches and bones had each sprung from
or any of my fears. I grew up alone. I grew up
among women who laugh loudly and hang their bras
in the backyward. I grew up watching strangers

like myself. I grew up envying flies,
their wings, anonymity, short lives. I grew up
in confusion. I grew up loved and
unloved, as everyone does. I grew up needing
something to hold at all times. I grew up sucking
my fingers. I grew up
wanting. And now I am all grown up and
wanting.