She claimed me that first day in the school yard:
me standing there on skinny legs,
dazzled by Australian sunshine and heat,
the bee buzz of more children
than I’d reckoned in the world.
She took my hand.
I told her my name,
she said hers.
She tucked my arm under hers,
marched me away into a life
I wasn’t sure I wanted.
“We’re best friends now,” she said.
“Okay,” I said.
She was bigger than me.
I went along with whatever she said,
because what if she sat on me?
She was a Big Girl.
I was a small one.
I would have followed anyone
who showed me how to be real.