Popcorn

I want to know how it feels to lie in your bed and stare at the ceiling.

I want to know how your sweatshirt would fit over my shoulders.

I want to be a melody stuck in your head.

When we drove through my hometown for the first time, I asked her, "What do you see?"

And she stared at the setting Ohio sun, at the too cold outside with not enough snow, at the streets I called home.

I have 2 brothers

One is 11

and one is 3.

My house is never

ever

quiet.

I used to want an older sister.

To borrow clothes from.

To talk to about boys.

To show me how to put on make up.

The screen in my window’s still down —

no wonder it’s so cold up here.

You’d think I’d know better, a house this old, this time of year.

And here I thought I shivered for the stress,