Lofty ideas are not permitted for one
so young, but a lofted bed is the place
where I escape disbelieving glances,
discrediting remarks. Maybe if I sob
enough the droplets will take root
into this special pillow that I will sleep
with when I am twenty one. Maybe
when I am old enough to harvest
this small act of defiance I will
hold this stuffed, green comfort
with hollow corners, perfect for my
clenched fist. It's as if the white stitched
plant will be blooming with gleaned
strength for my future's picking.
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