Tuesday, March 05, 2013

For a Young Friend Who Wants a Bra

Nothing yet.
Soon enough the fabric
buckles, deploys boys.
Your lively thoughts play
down the street, overheard
by mothers who wish
they had the energy,
the same instrumentation
of imagination.

Memory shames.
I kept a growth chart
of breast progress,
held a loopy washcloth
over my chest in the tub
and cupped my hands
over the nothing
that was there. I hoped,
and then I lost interest,
and packed a bag
to run away from home.
I lost interest in that too,
the idea sillier than
saving my nickels
for a chihuahua.

Don’t worry.
You’ll grow as you’ve grown,
an arrangement so fetching
you won’t even notice, lost
in the drowsy navigation
of your beautiful days.

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