Big Girl Things

I thought I wanted you teach me big girl things,
where I’d forget what was childish or juvenile.
So I fell into you, because I thought you’d catch
me before I hit the ground, small, jagged pieces
of me scattered everywhere, big ones too. Maybe
you were terrified. Maybe I changed, became
something too heavy and you moved your hand
away. I’ve never heard a heart beat as fast as I have
than in that car with you, on those nights, driving
down quiet, empty highways, where I learned big
girl things, mistook dream for reality, let you take,
and go on taking because I thought you’d keep me
safe. But maybe that car was really a cage, and your
hands were just big, beautiful lies, inlayed and blinding,
sharp like blades, trying not to scratch but still leaving
a wound. Either way, what did you teach me? What
did I learn from you? That maybe love is really just a
mirage, some unsolvable thing that leaves us twisted,
possibly mad. That maybe kisses are just small, violent
agonies and big girl things are as unbearable as they
seem. What else? I don’t really know. The only thing
left to say it this: you are the impossible thing I am
trying to forget, and yet, still keep remembering.

By Karese Burrows

Biography:

Karese Burrows is a poet and graphic designer from The Bahamas. Her poetry has previously been featured in The Rising Phoenix Review, Harpoon Review, L’Ephemere Review, Penstrike Journal and Words Dance Publishing. Her first chapbook This Is How We Lost Each Other was published by UK independent publisher Platypus Press in 2018 and can be purchased from Platypus Press, Barnes & Noble and Amazon. She can be found at kareseburrows.tumblr.com.