Dinner with Myself

By: Taylor Armstrong

These are my young years
My loved-the-whole-wide-world-and-back years.
Feet kicking
In my high chair
With my sippy cup
Laughing over spilled peas.

These are my young years,
My the-world-is-full-of-magic years.
Feet swinging
With a can’t-yet-reach-the-floor
Kind of reckless
Hiding wish-I-was-tall-enough hopes.

These are my young years,
My too-young-to-know-what-loss-is years.
Feet tapping
To the tune of that one song
Still stuck in my head
From last night.

These are the bad years,
My quarter-life crisis years.
Feet set
Into the hard wood floors,
Head on the table (or underwater),
Firmly weighted down in concrete.

Crying over spilled peas,
I watch my young years
Fade back into empty chairs
Around the table

Image Source: https://c1.staticflickr.com/9/8417/8705557608_037644fb20_b.jpg


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