In her hands a giant pearl
on her head a star
I was her in wishes
changes of clothes
and rehearsals in front of the mirror.
when it was important to remember
that you can't be too much of anything
and still be acceptable
I had to tone it down -
quiet my footsteps and my voice
be ashamed of what I ate
and nervous about what to say
of my virtue when the world left me behind
of my vice when heaven turned into an idea of pious judgement
of being neither magnetic or repugnant
what a hushed and smothered balance to become.
I was supposed to be a bride and mother
and speak in we
and pride myself on some small piece of earth
fill things with it
to encourage and enforce repetition
in the lightest most delicate of little bird like ways.
But I was never little
or quiet and calm
just calculating how much disobedience would not cause later problems
somehow, managing to at least be polite.
There was no time for luxury, leisure or pleasure
but the time alone in my head
escaping from places I would rather not live
and people half connected.
How many ebbs and flows later
of time reminding me
that I was blunting my strength
curiosity came back
not like a housecat complaining of unfair confinement
but of that lust and hunger for movement and space
of running and hunting
no pearls in my hands
no stars on my head
just a mess of hair squinting at the sun
with a roar.