Swallowed a cherry pit,
felt happily alone,
when I giggled at the back of class
about what wombs can grow.

The professor rambled on
about the history of dissent,
why we need criticism,
and what I should have read
by now
maybe he forgot
how it feels
to go out on your own
the magic of the world and words
mixed up and unknown.

Maybe it’s as simple
as the trusty alphabet
repeatedly we must decide
what words to make
and to reject.

So simply,
if growing is going
without knowing
what yet means,

I choose
next.