There’s a small person
inside of me, seven,
running the gearbox
of my brain.

She likes cheese and grapes
for dinner.
She doesn’t understand
loosening veins
or how round cheeks
turn into jowls.

She understands singing
more than taxes.
Money is the least fun game
we play.

She hopes we save some
for skirts with the good twirl.
She hopes we still remember how.

---

Nicole Shepherd is an Appalachian poet living in Chicago. Her poems appear in Maudlin House, Rust + Moth, Corporeal Lit, Orange Rose Literary Magazine, Free the Verse, Tulipwood Press’s Seedfall, and elsewhere. You can find her out in the world trying her best.  Find her @tenderpunkconfessional on Instagram.