My Cousins and I

 

My cousins and I used to listen on grown up doors.

Uncovering their whispered secrets

with ears pressed hard. Remnants of a name

“They’re talking about you.” “Nu-uh!”

Hips full hands, lips full

of smart remarks. Always got her in trouble

and out of it, too. Wanting to be

on the other side of the door

But not wanting it to open.

 

My cousins and I used to find our way to the kitchen

at two-in-the-morning. Sneaking pickles

and sandwich meat from our grandmother’s fridge.

Whipping up strange concoctions

pretending to cook

like grown ups.

“You’re doing it wrong.”  “Nu-uh!”

Hair full head, head hard.

“This is how my mother does it.”

 

My cousins and I used to make sheet forts

in the living room.

Hiding from our parents

collecting all the pillows in the house.

One hole to see the television

another to receive dinner. Playing house.

“You’re the baby. Sit down.” “Nu-uh,

I was the baby last time!”

Anger full eyes, eyelashes bat

“Fine.” And the fort always fell

in the middle of the night.

 

My cousins and I were a constant force against authority

mimicking it, too.

ground full feet, stance firm

stubble full chest, heart hardening

paint full nails, hands searching

for support. Trying to hold on to growing up.

Little did we know,

Adults were mimicking us, too.

 

Playing pretend.

like children do.