The year our glands began expanding
across our tight-skinned chests,
we stood bare-topped in a line
winding through brown lockers and benches: air
damp with sweat and shared showers
nobody took. Melon deodorant,
musky shoes. We took turns standing,
back to the nurse, front to the mirror,
afraid everyone was looking as we bent
forward, touching our toes, our spines curving
the way they should, appearing
like everyone else’s: a sleek set of ribs
down the middle of the back, a system
stretched like the center of everything
we wanted no one to see.