Growing
14UNITED STATESPOEM
Eva
3/30/20261 min read
My mother marks my height
on the kitchen wall.
Beside each line, she writes a date.
The marks rise,
but they cannot measure
the first time I travelled alone,
the apology I finally gave,
or the afternoon I learned
that being brave can look like asking for help.
Some kinds of growing
leave no line behind.