Too little, too big
for me, and for you
We hide, wedged in & tucked under
big staircase. There, in safe dark,
clutching flashlights to heaving chests, waiting
for the others to find us.
There, little me, pressing against tiled wall, knees tucked;
there, big you, pressing against me, knees folded.
Long hair clinging to sticky face,
small hands reaching with chewed fingernails,
smooth skin tanned by summer sun;
cracked lips stained a little blue.
Quick, you say, running upstairs.
Quick, you climb through closet door.
little me with tight chest, big you with no answers
wrapping arms around shoulder blades,
breathing hot breath, keeping ourselves
in one perfect, shiny piece
& I never say I’m too afraid to go home.
Her frankness surprised me; slender fingers
tap, tap, tapping—an idea slowly becoming a bellow.
Rapid fire she shot, shot, shot me down.
I watched her surrender;
I asked her not, not, not
to—the sky was too dark, her hands too small,
and I knew she would never come home.
Suzie spends her free time tending to her house plants, caring for her dog, hiking, and meeting friends at local breweries. Her work has previously appeared in Apogee and Turnpike Magazine.