Twelve and Listening to the Stones

by Catie Rosemurgy

Yeah, you got satin shoes. Yeah, you got plastic boots.
--The Rolling Stones, "Can't You Hear Me Knocking"

If I had a best friend, I might not tell her
that once you find your insides
and can tighten them, you can bring the ground
up to your face, bring the earth you're standing on
up through your body, until you can breathe
the grass as it comes through the dirt.
I might not tell her
I have muscles no one can see.
Not only can I keep rhythm and bring it
inside me one beat at a time, I can also clench
right in front of the paperboy's face until I feel a fist
loosening its grip on the largeness
inside me. The most he can see about me,
even if he looks impossibly close,
are the barely colored wisps of hair against my forehead.
They might tremble.
I tighten while I wait for the school bus.
I've worn the snow into ice.
How quiet I can be.
I close my eyes and change the size of things.
My house disappears below me.
The dark moves inside me like hands.

from My Favorite Apocalypse