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
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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