Misti Rainwater-Lites

4th Move in 3 Long Years

I Dermoplast my pits.
Burned by the razor again.
I’m bleeding like I do,
staining granny panties
and apple green sheets.
The food is packed so I
chew cinnamon gum
and read Carson McCullers.
I remember that feeling.
Itchy nipples at twelve.
Hollering at the older boy
across the street
because he was mocking
my passionate belief in Jesus.
He wasn’t afraid of Hell
and that pissed me off so bad
I wanted to kick
his balls.

In another part of the state
my daughter is twelve,
soon to be thirteen.
I wish her less passion,
less boxes to pack,
less tacks to thumb
on maps to say
I Was Here.