I am 5 feet and 4 inches tall.
If I was taller, I'd know the secrets of cupboards.
Top shelves harbor teabags and smuggle sacks of flour
across legions of short tenants.
Tall women can rest upright on the subway.
Ceilings don't have fingerprints, only headprints.
If you dusted the F train for evidence
you'd find latent regret amongst thumbs and pinkys.
We shuffle and rearrange and stack and sort ourselves
until our limbs stand quietly, and our eyes blankly retract.
I stare at my shoes and will my phone to buzz at 14th
street.
Maybe you missed me while I was underground
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