Childhood

Each rock has its own gravity

The monkey bars were not even a challenge. The rocking chair made her feel dizzy. Objects were oriented in space as perfect obstacles. The largeness familiar, welcome. Fluidity of change grew cool and stiff. Oblivious to steepness. Ears in the deep end. Tears pooling in corners he broke his wrist on. It wasn’t my fault, but I did hug him around the middle after his appendectomy and his face went gray. The hamster never stopped in the night. We asked our neighbors to look after her when we went away on vacation, and they put her cage in the downstairs bathroom with the door closed. The tarp would pull my smallness into the woods, enclosed in crunching, fallen leaves. Effort was an acquaintance. Falling was rare but also a nothing. Shape shifting overnight. Centripetal force on the playground roundabout. Plasticity, they call it. My head has a dent on the top. Top cupboards lose their mystery. The shrinking, no longer grandiose. Why would the moon matter if you were small?

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