The Lines They Draw
Evelyn B e nv i e
The box they put you in is too small,
graphite lined and ruler sharp,
edges crisper than your first Sunday frock,
the one your mother won’t let you play in.
you grow, unfolding outward like a fractal,
like the never-ending universe expanding from a single point,
reaching over and under and forward and back,
touching and asking, only to be told;
please don’t do that, sweetie.
That isn’t how we act in front of people.
25
Cauldron Anthology