BIG GIRL GROWN
and yes, this house is strangely
familiar, as if she has seen it in dreams, it has the feel and scent of her
body and the bodies she once had and yes, she is still welcome if somewhat
reluctant, to explore
on the wall of the spare bedroom
familial heights still jostle for supremacy in lead pencil and verbs redolent
of hot house conditions and yes, she recalls stretching her spine here
against the spines of others
in the garden, hoping for
her Eden in microcosm,
she finds her roots, replanted, replaced, and previously undiscovered deserts
follow her up the stairs and watch uncomfortably from corners
facing a measure finite, inviolable
just as she predicted,
the single-syllable death sentence
is a cul-de-sac
like a fishpond
where she circles, stunted
this was the room where she slept,
where the bed was a cave
and dreams were real as knives
and the walls painted with love
but there is nothing of her now
and yes, it hurts
the saddest truths are found
among the browning petals
and scent of summer
that holds no promise
for the long eternal present:
the trees are merely trees,
the flowers biological facts,
the shells shattered,
the magic ludicrous,
the child betrayed
and yes,
she no longer knows
nor sparkles
now
by Amy Licence