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.
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Elizabeth wheeler
Story collector. Archives
October 2021
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