Hand-me-downs

I’m the youngest, so I’m folded away,
Handed all the leftovers;
No first picks here, siblings steer me
Here and there,
Chucking pinecones at my feet,
Dropping beetles in my hair,
Lifting me up so I can reach the apples
Hanging off the tree. Placement
Becomes an expectancy,
Heavy big peoples standing on me,
Tripping while trying to keep up,
Learning laughter,
Shrinking into
Humbleness;
Waving the white flag of “too small”
And giggling away all the
Gall, the snake-bites and pinches.
Growing up,
Doesn’t feel like growing up;
Thirty years old and still
But a pup.
Still got recycled pencils, t-shirts,
And pots, and
Heaven knows, I love it all
A lot.

© Copyright A. Marie Kaluza 2015

This poem is featured in The Red Robe – buy it online today!

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