by Clara Johnson ’26 on February 12, 2026
Portfolio - Poetry
In twisted, creaking wood I found our names
Were scrawled by mother’s hand on the door frame.
My brother’s name is scratched below my own
Though he’s become much taller as he’s grown.
And so I see her there. She’s only haze,
A momentary blip into my gaze.
She’s like the dust within striated rays,
Like flecks that dance in beams of sunny days.
The fleeting woman scrawls my name anew
At 4-foot-5, though now I’m 5-foot-2.
She gently smooths my hair and on my brow
Presses a kiss I’ve learned to live without.
The apparition moves across the room
With warmth I knew, forgotten warmth of womb.
Forever 4-foot-5 in mama’s eyes,
And never will she see us grow more wise.
And never will she see us grow more tall
And never will she see us grow at all.