(girlhood), (growing), (skinned knees)

PHOTO: by Gabriel Serpa-Escobar ’24

By Rowan Sutton ’25 for Spoke Literary and Art Magazine

(girlhood)

and if childhood taught me anything 

it was not how to draw with chalk on quiet sidewalks, 

or to prod at worms in wet soil 

if it taught me anything  

it was to close my mouth more 

to hide my shoulders 

to cross my legs 

if my childhood taught me anything 

it was simply how to be afraid 

(growing)

the color seemed to drain out of everything 

a day at a time 

or maybe this is just what it is 

to be growing

(skinned knees)

When I say that I want to be held like a kid again 

I don’t mean swept off the sidewalk with popsicle juice staining my tongue 

Or bandaged with a kiss when I scrape my knee

I mean I want you to hold me like there isn’t blood on my hands 

I mean that I want you to hold me like all of everything 

hasn’t happened yet