She combs yesterday through her locks.
Dislodging tangles of betrothals and fears.
Her hair once a birds nest that had never
been touched. Now, a fertile field.
A floor-length mirror stands in the corner,
observing the woman-child with curiosity.
There is a new yellow diamond on her left
hand, perched delicately like a canary
on the edge of a tree limb. Maybe one day,
she will coax it to sing. After her breasts
bloom from their buds. After she's played
with her dolls one last time. Before she
forgets his name; the sound of her own voice.
Sandy Benitez spent her childhood traveling the world as a military brat. Her poetry has appeared in over 95 print
and online poetry journals such as Contemporary American Voices, The Orange Room Review, elimae, Full of Crow,
and Loch Raven Review. Sandy currently resides in Wyoming with her husband, 2 children, and 2 chocolate labs.
Her first book of poetry, Ever Violet, by D-N Publishing is available by contacting the author at
SandyB1070@msn.com.
| I wrote this poem in one sitting, which happens from time to time. I started out with the opening line..."she combs yesterday through her locks...", which was a phrase that just popped into my head. I couldn't let it go and I knew that I had always wanted to write a poem about a woman-child speaking from my own personal experience. I think that a lot of women feel this way at some point in their lives; the inner struggle between becoming a woman but still wanting to hold on to her childhood. |
