Sunday, April 21, 2013

30 poems in 30 days: 21


I'll admit it --

when you were little
your sass and independence
was more often than not
frustrating and
blood boiling

"I do it myself!"
grabbing the stroller 
tipping it onto its back wheels
stumbling behind it with a
stubborn pout
plowing through mall walkers
towing us behind
grumbling and burning
in your righteous and
achingly slow wake

ripping the dress off
the one I picked for you
and socks and shoes
at the front door
"I hate it!"
three minutes before
we have to go
my head about to
lift off my shoulders

but now that you're sixteen
more often than not
your shoulders slump
into a profound silence
tears you hide from us
frozen just under the surface
of your downcast eyes

I wish that little girl
would come back
to stand in front of the door
ready to face the world
hands on hips
chest out
head thrown back
stripped down to
a deep and crazy will

a flame of individual desire
infuriating unquenchable
stark unstoppable

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