(Published July 2021)
As little girls, we practice
our first kisses by pressing
our faces into pillows.
We give these pillows names
because our mothers taught us
never to talk to strangers.
So we suck in a deep breath
as we smother
our affections,
and morning is like that.
Pulling the air out of the room
leaving us to gasp out the names
of our first crushes, until
we replace each letter with an hour
and time replaces love
as we grow from little girls
into women.
Morning still finds a way to sneak in
through the blinds
slides under our covers
lightly kisses our neck
hoping we didn’t notice
the smell of afternoon
on their collar.
Poetic Trials 