Maturity

Day 8

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Preface: I meant for this poem to express the childishness and ignorance of a girl whose heart is broken. Part of the reason why I’m blogging every day is to track my progress. I know my first week’s posts were immature and whiny, and I imagine they will be for another few weeks. But that’s okay. I hope you all can bear with me for a while. Like the stages of grief, I have stages of maturity. When tragedy hits me I start by being formal (“After great pain, a formal feeling comes–“), then very immature. It takes me a while to let Head back into the picture.

So, until then, this poem:

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Charm

“I will win him back,” she said
in the mirror, her sister…………—two months the wiser—
in the background: “How, Nan?…..How?”

Turning around, Nan, shirtless, standing,
…………..her purple finger-polished fingers
…………………pushing up under her bra,
…………………framing her favorite feature: “With my

……boobs.

And if that doesn’t work: my
…..charm,
…..wit,
…..sentiment,
…..sense
………….of security,
…..with promises I cannot keep
…..with compliments to his
……………………….manliness, to his
……………………….package, his
……………………….charm and his
……………………….wit.”

“If those don’t work?”

Nan pulled a shirt over her arms, covering her nearly bare
………….breasts. She looked back
………….into the mirror, not meeting
……………………………………her sister’s eyes:

…..“Then—I’ll cry.”

November 17, 2011

Posted in Poetry.