Two Poems

Girl Becomes Ghost

I could not convince other children
I existed. I was a specter who

punted the ball only a few feet

as if a strong wind moved it.
When I sang in the classroom,

the teacher thought my voice

another girl’s, even if I belted notes.
When I grew older and a man claimed

my words too quiet, I became angry

and slammed a door. He thought
a gust forced it shut. I wanted

to become loud as thunder

and darken skies, make people
run for shelter. I heard only

my breath, the softest sound.
 

Mouse at the Door

Everyone grows taller than me
and wears accomplishments like costumes,

parading in their finery. I wave my small flag
at each procession. I walk home in the dark,

notice my footsteps make no sound on the pavement
while the footfalls of others echo down the street.

I am barely tall enough to unlock my door
or turn the knob, and cannot grip

with such small hands. For an hour I consider
my insignificance, mouse at the door.

I find a crate for reaching and gloves for grasping.
It is a minor accomplishment. I name it mine.
 
 
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