by Rachel Grey
A wrinkle makes a nest in my left cheek,
but I am growing younger.
Each day another certainty dissolves,
or another word blurs to double meaning.
Five years ago, so many things seemed clear.
I was drawn to boys, not girls. I used to care.
Weíve all read that these things are fluid,
but itís hot and strange to be the one melting.
Are you a container whose shape I will take?
I hugged you hello for too long yesterday,
speech forgotten, as a year peeled away
and turned to heat deep in my belly.
When the ripples reached my hands I let you go.
So I canít claim surprise. I could probably be frightened
but the light of a city shines through me today
and I am growing younger.
I would like you to teach me some new words.
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