Caitlin Cowan

TO MY LITTLE SELF

Remember the cookies just two or three castled in the little glass

dish glinting in Michigan’s sorry excuse for sun you were seven and went back

for more two or three when Mama came back from the deck she scolded what

was it that she said does it matter what matters is that you waited at the kitchen

counter for an hour after she went back outside the sky slowly darkening you would not

disappoint her no you were seven years old if you did not eat them you

were good you would make her see you were good I’m here to tell you to eat them

and everything else life will offer the bitter men and sweet distractions to come

eat it all none of it matters you will never be good you do not have to be good

one day that tattoo will grace the skin behind your clavicle your little black rebellion

it got so dark that Mama came back inside saw the bowl the untouched wafers said

what did she say what matters is that she chided you again you had fucked up

it’s ok we can say that now the earth spun the sad Midwestern sky to sludge and you

have never forgotten that day even as your waistline surged and ebbed a fleshy tide

you will never be able to harness it’s ok I’m here to tell you there are larger wrongs and you

will commit them all devour them all and life will go on the world will keep on spinning

the sun neither rises nor sets it’s just you baby girl turning and turning