Stretch
I was a young girl once.
I was a young girl with yellow braids,
so close to white.
I was tall and my hair grew darker
with every inch I stretched up.
On the playground,
a boy approached me
while I played on
the monkey bars.
All the boys were picking flowers
for their favorite girls.
I thought I was finally a favorite girl.
He asked me to reach
up to a branch for him,
so I could pick a flower
for his favorite girl.
I was tall and
had magical stretching arms
he didn’t have.
I picked it and gave it to him.
I’ve been reaching ever since,
plucking flowers for myself.
My arms are aching and so long.
My braids are undone.
I ask my arms,
“Can we please stretch
on and on?”
I haven’t seen my hands in years,
but I think one of them is being held
by somebody beautiful.