Smaller

I saw it at Target today

in the same aisle where

probably nothing's changed

since I was seventeen

and stupid enough to think

that taking it meant something.

It's smaller than I remembered.

Everything is smaller when you're older,

but this is different.

This is a thing I carried out

in my jacket pocket,

heart pounding,

convinced I was about to be caught,

convinced the security guard could see

right through my ribs

to the guilt living there.

I was so scared.

So sure that this small object

meant I was bad,

that taking it proved something

about who I was going to become.

Now I'm standing in the same aisle

looking at the same thing

and I can hold it in my hand.

Literally hold it.

It fits.

The guilt doesn't fit anymore.

Or maybe it does.

Maybe the guilt is the only thing

that hasn't gotten smaller,

that's stayed exactly the size

it was when I was seventeen

and convinced that a small theft

was the worst thing

I could ever do.