Painting by Pablo PicassoI Watch
As my daughter of seventeen
Preens in front of the bathroom mirror
Perfumes and lip glosses
Scattered across the counter
Contact lenses spooning
On her azure eyes
She is an opening flower
Still dewy with the new day of her life
She prepares herself like a sacrifice
Lacquering her lashes
Fitting silver droplets to her ears
Pale curls frustrate her most valiant
Efforts at containment
And erupt over her shoulders
She concentrates, lower lip thrust out
And the ghost of her three-year-old self
Escapes from my heart
And how can I let her go out
Into a hard, jagged world
Already riddled with casualties
When she is as vulnerable as a reed?
Yet, I cannot take this opening bud
And press it under glass
Or stick it in a dried arrangement
On my coffee table
Preserved and safe
And dead
Mary Bach
Posted over on her site Writing In The Bachs
Listed as #57 over on Magpie Tales 48
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