come to pity what might be

i drank the contents of a walmart juice box from my mom’s wine glass last friday.

shut my eyes, guzzled the bubbles; you know, i pretended

it was all champagne.

i sat on the driveway some time ago and i

memorized the chalk mosaics and crayola masterpieces i used to make.

in a couple months, i’ll get a license, and i’ll smear them thrice over

in a silver chevrolet.

a while ago, at the mall, a woman’s baby bottle dropped from her stroller,

and i ran after her and told her, “ma’am, you lost this by the café.”

so she took the bottle, smiled, squeezed my shoulder, and said,

“you’re a good girl, dear. when you grow up: stay this way.”

and maybe it’s odd to think about, but since middle school,

my handwriting has never looked the same.

and also, it’s just that, i can’t stop thinking:

when i was younger, it’d felt like every week, i’d have a new reason to pray,

but dear God, growing up feels like going faithless on a sunday.

and so, i pity the woman with the stroller at the mall

who had hoped i’d stay that way.

because there’s a price to getting older

i can’t help but wonder if i’ve already paid.