I am told that my anatomy is the sheer academy of my lack of sensibility and that my sense of autonomy is just my way of rebelling against my own skin.

Because I was born in a body that is just a little too small to contain such an opinion, and so this must be just the remainder of some book I read, right?

I am told that at times my mouth traces outlines larger than my hands can, and all I know is that my fingers stretch to try and reach the cord that turns off the light on my porch so that I can find the streetlight shadow puppet.

Because I am at odds with the lightbulb delivery of my best friend’s idealism and my body’s realism and it’s all a sense of alchemism when I’m searching for altruism.

I’m told that I am too big for my body, or “for such a little girl, you’re very smart,”. I used to start in the plus-size section of stores, only to be escorted to diminutive floral prints and capri pants.

I am still mistaken for a lost child at the airport, I am still advised not to go out in certain areas after dark, I didn’t realize I was small until I wasn’t listened to.

tiny wrists made up of clothespins

sharp hips made up of awkward wingspans

held my smile like a knife made up of coffee stained teeth

walked me home like a dance with the broken sidewalk
kissed my scared hands with a scarred mouth

I write too many poems about my body.

but it’s the only house my spirit knows

and the only movement is my own

I could write you a love poem

or one about the way the kids in my hometown

used to walk the traintracks like they led somewhere

but i’m completely obsessed with this idea of entrapment

that i could be more than skin and bones that i could be made of

ink blotch shoulderblades

ribbon ribcages

clothespin wrists

and ruby lips

that i could abandon myself and get out of this cage

that’s too big or too small or whatever the **** they tell me this week.

For Little One
June, 2012

I want to be a giant girl

with my hair caught in the clouds

and a bird resting on my nose

I want to be twice as small

as the fly resting on the wall

I

I want to watch small men

smoke pipes and sing to themselves

I want to grow too magnificent for the room

and push down the walls with my elbows

and use the chimney as a periscope

the sheer enormity

and when I dance

I want to fell the planetary divide

and taste the milky way

and wear saturn’s rings as jewelry

stars tangled in my braids

and i’d let humans walk across my shoulders

so that they could see the moon

and remember how it feels to be

small, childlike, wondering

and then things might be alright.

In shortening she made me jam roly poly
a Jezebel in a grand fully furnished way aglow
with bold basement statements broad brushed full on
to glaze the way to a plum job whole storey mission
proclaiming sofas as soft as any humble pin cushion
stuffed with unfinished symphonies in a mansion
booming out to empire builders' biggest guns
tended by harems of belly dancing bumble bees
burbling alongside a myriad of louder hues
flowing into bouffant hairstyle shrubs brushed
and blow dried into blooming privacy bushes


but outside she transformed
yet served by outsize platters
prolific with blazing seasonings
glazed with enough sweets
to satisfy a pudding feast
laid before a sumptuous appetite
comforting peahens with broad beans
ripened beside horizons of warm salads
dressed by blooming strawberries
pores plumped up from ladles
dunked deep as finger buns
into sloppy icing barrels
awash with hoarded nuts
of sweet toothed squirrels
engorged to dozing on branch barges
full to the gunnels and slow wallowing
in troughs laden with fatted chugs
rambling across rolling oceans awash
with tranquil rafts of whales nibbling
each morning on shoals expanding
beyond shallows into deep new ports
to offload uncontainable cargo
swung low on sweeping vista nets
dragging tree trunks packed like Jumbo
to land with a thump in wide sided carts


splashing and rocking slowly on their ways
until mopped up by richly saturated bales
of overgrown Danish butter grass pats
resplendent amidst dollops of luscious
double churned cream gateaux farm gates
open for cuddling golden syrup spoons of heat
spreading mellowness deep into the sponge
of unfolded meadows with encyclopedic knowledge
accumulated into increased volumes of decisive “belle”
resounding excitedly across the hills of plenty


chirrups bumping cheekiness into narrow valleys
to settle hawk eyes wide open to opportunities
accumulating it all in seam stretched sack boasts
of the good life storehoused bigger than most
but ready to collect and offload refreshment
like the slow but steady wobbling airships
stretched out resplendent across hay loft skies
fluffed up between a sweating Queen bed cumulus
keen to bounce into cloudless heady ensembles
swung high over thigh slapping oompah band hills


in a tug-of-war snapping heartstring restraint
and low frequency waves of contentment
she apportioned herself and me in generosity
celebrating a fully stocked love stacked larder
sweet with chock-a-block huffs and puffs
and then glad sighs of expansive success
in relief a schmooze diorama all she was after
Summer's glorious bamboozled ardour

Alluring
           each single cell and fibre
An event horizon  
                      briskly scathing wider
A hyper-nova powerhouse
                               The death of a Sun
Quiet as a mouse on Earth
                                      In Space perhaps a hum

Quite the sight we've never seen
                                            From our eyes to the sky
But envisioned by a telescope
                                                 The vastest contrasts of realities
Exist so far and wide
                                                     Hard to fathom
Tiny atoms
                                                       Galaxies like grains of sand
What is big?
                                                          What is small?            
Whatever the answer
                                                             Space is ******* cool!

i am small
gotta crane my neck to make a connection
look down to feel safe
close my eyes to feel whole again
look in the mirror to remind myself
that i am taller than i think

i am small
in that i lower my voice automatically
when afraid that i might be wrong
in that i look away spontaneously
when afraid that eye contact
might mean more than i want it to

i am small
in that i describe myself that way
and therefore i am
gotta have some excuse
for the crooked, sneaking way
i move through this world
gotta have some reason
for the volume at which i express myself
at 2 hours into the morning
loud and clear upon virtual pages
trying to tell myself
that i am louder than i believe i can be
and that i am right, have been all along

i am small
and i don't mean in age, of course
because my years betray nothing
of true experience
to be honest, i feel like i've lived
decades within my own mind
it's more that image, that casual description
thrown about
of a girl who sticks to the edge of the staircase
a girl who smiles just enough to warm hearts
a girl who looks away before her eyes can speak volumes
a girl who only wants to be a few inches taller, really
even if it's just my soul that grows
or my self-confidence