Growing Days

We only talk now on growing days—

Dad checks my span and shoots me up.

I burst from his embrace

spread new pinfeathers,

go leaping through the lab—

last night I hurdled nine cages of chimps.

He wants me to behave,

submit to another of his five zillion tests

but his moldy ideas are holding me up.

Stripping off my dress I run

naked as a jaybird, swift

as a falcon.

He can't cage me; I'm his little chickypoo.

Outside the lab there are boys, there are birds—

teary threats won't ground me

forever. I am clawed as an eagle

savage as a kite

and I will fly.