Wednesday, December 5th, 2012

maybe we are all, i am afraid to say,
fading into dust and bone:
shrinking perversely into the ground,
in early preparation for the grave.
or maybe i’m the one who’s growing into an airborne tomb of my own,
body shooting for the stars like a beanstalk:
bigger frame
bigger person
bigger cage protecting
bigger heart
(or not)
nineteen and three quarters of a year later, i have
finally broken
the glass ceiling of your shoulders
yet there’s no hope of surpassing you where it counts:
no matter how tall proud seasoned i grow,
i remain forever your daughter,
almost never quite
your equal.


By: Valerie Wong
Submitted: 11/22/2012 at 3:41 p.m.

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