Tender Hip Bones

Monday, March 18, 2024

2001 was TWENTY THREE years ago. A person born in the 2000’s could already have had a kid. What a wild thought. My grandmother’s ring in the likeness of a frog, black and white and green all over. Anthurium plants and Sophie’s cheeks, Sophie’s stories, her handwriting considerably better than mine. My pink bra strap gone feral. An almost empty jar of creamy peanut butter. In college, for a short time I lived with three other girls in a dilapidated yellow house just outside of Baltimore where I fell into the routine of eating turkey sandwiches with peanut butter, bread toasted. Surprisingly good but most importantly, cheap. I was waiting tables and paying my phone bill with a credit card. My parents came to said house once to pick me up on their way to the beach and were not impressed. I think my mother was worried the structure might disintegrate into itself at any moment, our tender hip bones crushed alongside our teenage dreams, our delusions.