petri dish 

you & me woke
up in the same
petri dish--
yellow incubator light
overhead--
it is a question
of who is faster
at consuming? 
our world was
small & our cells
were simple 
& prokaryotic-- in
the town where i 
grew up 
they tear into
the asphalt every summer
& the beeping
of backing u
vehicles 
kept my night shift
father awake--
staring into
the ceiling 
while my brother &
i walked along
the rim of
the dish-- traced
our own perimeters--
the mountain 
past the Rite Aide 
where the whole
world ended--
& in the 10th grade
i loved biology--
our biology--
our sickly biology--
the biology 
of our bodies
in petri dishes &
the back seats 
of cars--
our biology of
basements & 
the yellow incubator
light glaring
down at us--
this was our single-celled
life-- this was
our growth--
the impending collision
of our expanding
bodies--
who will eat who?
isn't that always
the game of
our fist loves--
who will grow up
faster & leave
the other one to
sleepin
in the halo song
of golden moons--
we ate gas station
doughnuts &
i learned that 
a 'no' from the 
throat of a girl 
means nearly nothing 
but an apology--
i made my own
holy water from 
blue raspberry slushies &
i still 
know kutztown's
side roads
better than 
my own cell structures--
i don't remember
anymore about the
different membranes 
of the bacteria cell
or why we raised
them in the back room
of the lab in 10th grade  
or where they went
when we were done
spying on them 
under microscopes--
peering into
their soft & 
tiny bodies--
there pilus-- the
small hairs propelling
them through swiftly 
across the agar--
i had thick legs
as a girl & dresses
to hide them--
you had black hair 
& sometimes
you bumped your head
on the roof of my house--
that's how tall you became--
how much space you
take up inside me still
when i think
about your hand
snatching a fist
of my hair to yank--
who will consume who
in the petri dish?
who will
climb through
the microscope's lens
back into the lab
where i was 
wearing gloves
& goggles-- marveling
at the blueish hue 
of the bacteria
we had inspired--
there the stop light
on main street 
blinked & a singular
red toyota 
clamored out of
town--
& no 
matter how
vast
i become-- 
when i see
that car-- his car--
i alter--
simplify my cells 
--on my knees
in agar-- 
membranes
throbbing
with the fear of
the memory 
of such smallness 
he sparked in
me-- oh what
do you remember
from biology class?
do you remember
counting
the bacteria on
the back of your 
hands-- 
did you believe 
yourself
a microcosm?
& the street lamps
don't go 
on all at once 
in kuztown-- they 
light one after the
other until they 
find their
way to noble
street--
expanding 
only to 
the edge
of corn fields