Grow by Caitlin Treacy '12

I think (maybe) I knew her, once,
before her smile was bones.
Something happened between
caring and then, later, leaving.

Before her smile was bones,
she could lift me onto her shoulders.
Caring and then (later) leaving
was easy at night when walls were darkest.

She could lift me onto her shoulders
back then. I didn’t sleep at first, but rest
came easy at night, where the walls were darkest:
somewhere in-between ivy vines and flower gardens.

Back then, I didn’t sleep at first. But the rest
became easy once I was gone for awhile.
Somewhere in-between ivy vines and flower gardens, our
honeysuckle used to grow. I sucked their marrow out

which was easy once I was gone for awhile.
The leaves crumpled, and weeds overran the place where
our honeysuckle used to grow. I sucked all the marrow out
of her past. She’s dry and bleached and not even real anymore.

I think that maybe I knew her once—before her smile was bones.