it’s bristles on enamel // gargle, spit. 

coffee staining steel // drain, scrub. 

it’s how you move your veins and nerves and 

eyes and heart 

to the arms and legs 

of the same clock.

you can’t stop the world from 

growing you tall // fat, heavy,

and now you can’t fit into your mother’s

shoulder sag, 

or hide under the bed with the monsters.

ROUTINE. 

it’s the tut of the kitchen door // spin, click.

hushed voiced so your nanny won’t hear. 

it’s when the whole house knows, 

it’s when the whole world knows, 

but still!

shut the door so your nanny won’t hear.

ROUTINE. 

it’s when his password changes,

and she’s not home from work,

it’s when you have to pinch // slice // kill

to remember 

that you’re only a 

only a 

only 

a kid.