She Still Knows

I do not remember when we were young 
or how large the world once seemed, 
this is one of the things only she knew.

The hidden pencil marks on door frames. 
To our distaste, we will grow taller, 
but it will still be there for us later.

I am sure my father will die in this house. 
I am glad I will never have my childhood 
adopted by other children’s heights. 

When I do not know where to start, 
I kneel to the first number; only she knew. 
She still knows everything about being small.