TO CHILDHOOD
I found you
so dull and sad but
for the times brother assured
my leaping off ladder-tops
or when kittens were born so
we could name them horribly.
Each stunted milestone
like being taught in Russian when I
was clearly a banana.
Time was gambled in increments. One
year I did not grow at all and seven
people independently called
me below-average. All obsessive
naming. All wondrous
small. I was rapt with lying
and thought I would die in you.
I wanted scuba masks
to be cooler. I wanted to muffle
the persistent moan of loneliness.
The age distracted me.
I should have been born
without electricity.
____________________________________________________________________
JESSIE JONES currently lives in Victoria, BC and is working on her first manuscript. Her writing has appeared in Prism International, CV2, filling station, and elsewhere.