You are still the kind of small
where people stop me to tell me
how small you are.
Though I don’t think
it’s your size that bewilders.
It’s the evidence
we were something
we can’t remember.
Like the large man
in the aisle next to me
on the plane.
Did someone really cradle him once
in the crook of their arm?
It seems as likely
that he was once a hamster
but I force myself to believe it
and though his big face
is still bent in a scowl,
I look over at him
until he looks back.
Going home for Christmas?
I ask him
and his beard cracks open
with the kindest smile
as he begins to tell me
all about
his mom.