I couldn’t take the doorway,

The inaccurate labels, moved

By my brother more interested

In humor than facts,

The ones that peel,

Me taller at seven than he at 14,

The ones carved into the frame,

Me at two, at five, my sister at 17,

My dad,

My dog somehow, taller at one than I was at two.

Did we hold up his willing paws?

Stand up straight.

Don’t tilt your head back.

Don’t stand on the little rise.

Cheating!

Stand flat on the floor.
No shoes.

Now step away. Look how you’ve grown.

One year I grew 4 inches.

Around the corner my children grew

and my husband started growing

when we met

and he could stand on the doorjamb

and be taller by half an inch.

Will the frame with its carpenter pencil etchings

stay?

Will they think it quaint

And heartwarming

To see the height of us all

In their new kitchen?