and hurt people. We were called selfish so many times we figured what the fuck, and slid the last piece of steak from our grandmother’s plate. We were primitive. When we peed
fast in the dark a cylinder of light from the hallway slid through the lockless door and fell
at our feet. We stole spoonfuls of Haagen-Dazs Rum Raisin even though the raisins
thawed and spread like sticky insects on our tongues. We took it out on each other, oldest to youngest, until the dog really did get a bonnet tied so tight his eyes bugged out. We grew up and left that place, refugees. We acquired husbands, student loans, a penchant for carving scabby letters lightly into our forearms, kittens that kept coming. We left lovers sitting in pick-up trucks in remote corners of state parks to race home and sprinkle flea powder, open cans, scratch under wishbone chins. We got therapy. We went for walk
after walk after walk in the woods. We filled the sink with hot water and bubbles until
we washed dishes every day. We got sober standing before a chain link fence, pressing
our foreheads to the grid. We pulled needles from our veins, stacked folding chairs,
jiggled our knees when we sat. We inked stick figures on our forearms, mouths open, meowing. We were sorry and we said so, and after a while our wheels ground to
a gravelly stop. We didn’t know any better. And then we did, and bowed our heads.
We Were Immature