To love a boy
So she busied her hands
Of tiny things,
Hair pins and skin conditioner,
Cold cream and eyelash glue,
Writing words like an old Magi
Across greeting cards full of hearts.
She melted herself into
The cauldron of his cupped hands,
And he was the red scar she pinned
Onto the chest of her Sunday best.
Like a white square of Solstice twilight
She became transparent amidst
Pretty faces and meaningless conversation,
The ‘in girl’ of a small town
Rich in her white tights at the social cookouts.
Then at night, alone, undressing before
The mirror like a young Madonna
Before the first birth, she’d fall
Back into her real self,
Somewhat like digging up a stone,
Submerged of dirt on the bottom,
Yet still shining,
Dripping like star-mercury into
The shrill crowd of a campfire,
Shivering beneath the crumble-leafed trees
Of a fall night, the moon winking like
A silent siren in an otherwise empty crowd.
Her hushed heart would numb itself,
unwarmed by the breath
Of silly girls in Summer’s last tan lines,
As she held onto the coals
Of some boys careless hands.
Written from a prompt at Magpie Tales.