The Last of the PT Posts

It's more than a little bittersweet posting my last Poetry Thursday post ever. I think that Dana, Liz, and the entire PT community should be commended for the coolness that they created. I will definitely miss it... until the next project surfaces.

Here is my poem -- this is what immediately occurred to me when I read the trigger of "open a window." I don't know what it means, and it's awfully rough, but here it is.



After the Well

I remember bottles of potions, arrays
of sweets, all displayed within my reach.
Their tags, "Eat Me, Drink Me"
sang in soft tones. I remember
being so small, I could squeeze
through doll-sized doors and tiny keyholes.
This was okay, this insignificant size
until everything

loomed large around me. I was a small
seed, ready to sprout. Hours later,
wiping frosting off my lips, I was
expanding ever so quickly. I remember
my arms ached with growing pains, muscles
taut from so much stretching. I was
an unraveling vine, a creeping myrtle,
bursting with shoots, tendrils and leaves.

Before my snack, I fell asleep in fetal position
on the ground, dwarfed by furniture legs
and pebbles. As soon as I ate, I shot
forward, fast and against my will, crowding
the too small house. Chairs and tables
pressed into my flesh, swallowed by
soft folds of my skin.I thought

I would burst at tiny seams; I thought
I should open a window
or door, make room for myself. Just then,
my elbows shattered four panes of glass,
breaking the confines of my too small house.
I remember thinking, Oh bother,
now I'll never get home. This was the least
of my many young worries.