Room

Scared is what you’re feeling,” says Ma, “but brave is what you’re doing.”

I kiss her face where the tears are, that’s how the sea tastes.

“Careful.”
Why do persons only say that after the hurt?

If Room wasn’t our home, does that mean we don’t have one?

“I’ll get bigger and bigger and bigger till I turn into a human

You can have it forever even when you’re dead,” I tell her. “Will you be dead before I do?”

“ ‘The Soul selects her own Society—Then—shuts the Door—’ ” That’s his poem voice.

I’m allowed take them home because finders keepers, losers weepers.

“Ever taste a tear?” asks Grandma.
“Yeah.”
“Well, that’s the same as the sea.”

I don’t like a clever toilet looking at our butts.