to be small—foolishly—, hoping

by Kat Abrams

the crown of my sister’s head is

downy fluff

white light breathing

kissing her finest baby hairs

golden

i am in the shadow of her arm

i see stars

in the dust that suspends

in the sunlight stream

floating

my cheeks are kissed

soft and round

my body melting

into the only crack in the couch

that you left open

my sister reads in my father’s voice

and at the table i wonder why

beneath the white china

i hear every third word

that’s spoken

in the arms of lace window treatments

we never have to run

but my mother cut her thumb,

i make spilled milk,

i leave the dishes broken

it’s a long way to look up at someone

so i squint at you orange

i am much too small to know you

so i love you

with abandon

Kat Abrams (she/her) is a 23-year-old writer and artist from Parkdale, Toronto. Her work often tackles themes of chronic illness, domestic abuse, and misogyny.