By Renee Agatep
my girl, when you grow, if for no other reason
to admire how her trousers can still be clipped
seven to a row on the drying rack, how slight
the sleeves, how the fibers fray velvet
as thistledown, if for no other reason
to relish the smallness
of the time
that has passed
and time you might yet have
to hang her clothes on a line.
This poem originally appeared in Gastropoda.
Photo by Roma Kaiuk🇺🇦 on Unsplash.
Renee Agatep 