grounded

GROUNDED
When I was little,
too little to run outside with the big kids,
I stood on our hand-me-down sofa
and smudged the glass
with my face and fists
and watched those that pedaled past
and skipped
and roamed free-range
and wailed,
"Kids, Mommy! Kids!"

I was hard to contain,
shedding my diaper in the middle of
the inky dark
and climbing my crib
and slipping outside
to explore
and find my cat
and play in the grass
and when the neighbor brought me home
to my mom's fear and worry,
I held her chin and pointed skyward
and said,
"Stars, Mommy! See?"

Now I am still
grateful for glass partitions
waving at distant stars
far from the woman who
tried to contain me,
to contain everything
I once wanted to escape.

I am grounded.