Two Sizes Too Small

after Dr. Seuss

My heart is green, greedy,
grasping. My t-shirt is stretched
tight across my chest.

I’m looking in on lights, leaning down
a long chimney, the soot-
stained length of it, straight.

All of you are in on this,
aren’t you. Your baubles and bellows,
bright birthdays, belonging.

I’ll tie antlers on my faithful
dog. I’ll put unfolded laundry in your hands
and call you a woman.

And I’ll drag away all you’ve got.
I’ll haul it to the top. You’d better hope
I stop at the brink.

Meg Yardley lives in the San Francisco Bay Area. Her work has recently appeared or is forthcoming in publications including Rogue Agent, SWWIM, Bodega Magazine, District Lit, and the Women’s Review of Books.

Appears In

Issue 10

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