BY ANNA RYAN-PUNCH

 

There’s never been a case

of growing too slow.

Shot up like I was

addicted

to tree-tops.

Cream skin stripes and

ankle-baring hemlines

attested.

Brilliant in goal defence

but freshly crammed

into new limbs.

Elbows crunched soft throats;

right-angled.

Video camera panned

common denominator height.

Captured their faces, my breasts.

Headless wonder for years

I grew

into my legs

snatched back the camera

smiled brilliantly at my

elevated mouth.

 

Anna Ryan-Punch is a Melbourne poet and reviewer. Her previous publications include poetry in Westerly, The Age, QuadrantOverlandIsland and Wet Ink. She also blogs at annaryanpunch.blogspot.com.