All I Wanted Was to Grow Up: A Poem

Below, the winner of last month’s Writers Club prompt: Does growing up have to hurt?

All I wanted was to grow up.

I wanted large womanly hands, long legs,

A low voice, a laugh buoyant and sparkling.

To be a woman who had things people needed:

a bandaid, a sweater,

a story, love,

that was what I wanted.

No, I never had growing pains.

Me and my body

couldn’t grow fast enough;

My knees became my mother’s,

my feet became her mother’s,

my nose became a stranger’s.

“Wise before your years,” people said,

and I believed them,

hastening towards maturity,

wisdom, fertility, ripeness.

No, I never had growing pains.

The pain came later,

when expectations soured,

dreams gone stale crumbled.

Still so much a child. Eyes closed, I can see her still,

my invention—the woman with everything.

Her capable hands

tend to things, grow things, they hold things,

things people need.

At night she sleeps. I lay awake,

thinking of her.

No, I never had growing pains.

Now, though, I’ll admit,

I do.

Feature graphic by Dasha Faires; Photographed by  

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