When they crossed over

When they crossed over
into Puberty,
they brought only
the contents
of their emptied
childhood pockets

I watched them
saunter to the border.
Big on ideas, on how things
wouldn’t change for them.
How they’d escape
and live to tell the tale,
come running back to camp
and share their adventures
with the rest of us

A few months
and our campfire ghost stories
now featured the kids
we used to know

How they got snatched.
How they got Grown Up.
How they got different
and never wrote home

We whooped and hollered.
We scrapped and yelled.
We played pretend
with the best of all imaginary beasts

I awoke one morning
with bloodied undies,
my chest swollen slightly
like that of a puffed up bird.

I wandered into the wilderness
of inbetween,
made peace with the nearness
of my own metamorphosis

I smuggled gift shop trinkets
on the way to the exit
Scrawled notes in code
to a future self,
stuffed them in the floorboards,
sharpie tattooed secrets
onto inner thighs

My life since
has been a great unraveling
of my segmented history,
chasing down the gnostic texts
of my youth

I’m following the wandering
bread crumb trail,
I am playing with fairies,
talking with ghosts,
I am coaxing the lost child
back into the home
of my body



2 thoughts on “When they crossed over

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