Savi Hanning-Brown

girlhood

late that night in the sticks

we picked out new names for ourselves

and you explained how a lot of the stars we saw

were already dead       that from another place

we might be dead too. and it kind of scared us

because we still had to get

tongue piercings

fix the piss-poor state of our piggy banks

touch something famous.

later that summer eddie cut his hair

and you realized you liked girls

and we talked about what becomes different

when you forget to check up on it.

how the horses turned back into bicycles

how the corner store went bankrupt

how the woman across the street got put away

and no one knew what broke first

her mind          or her body.

and when the house went up

you kicked over the sign first try

and we used the woods as a pillow

to scream into             and you

on your knees in the dirt whispering

this is how

you pray          and we laughed

about the drama of it. about how

when we get there, none of it will matter.

nothing was defeat. we still had our names

and our teeth        and the rest of it

ready and stretched out before us:

each deafening year, together

and roaring.