Poem #30

Things left unsaid

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No mum, no grandma, no sister,
no woman ever prepared you for this.

One day you are a kid, the next
they drag you to a store and strap
around you a hideous beige thing.

They say, now you need this to cover
your tits, the same tits you showed
to the world a few months ago

still tanned from the sun, still flat
on your chest, no curves there yet,
no excuse for the itch that burns

your skin, that makes you scratch
for days and weeks while autumn
proceeds and winter delays and still

no word escapes their lips—no,
they didn’t prepare you for this.

No ceremony or initiation but a mute
affirmation to your questioning eyes,
mamma, is this it?—the it eludes you

and the warm blood trickling down
your thighs sends shivers up your spine;
where do you go from here and how?
	

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I had it all neat and tucked in my head. What to write, when to post, and the rest of my pending thoughts waiting patiently their turn, but then I read this poem written by

Margaret Ann Silver

in response to a prompt

Nelly Bryce

had come up with when she joined forces with

Stephanie Moore

. And I should not leave out of this chain reaction the comments between Margaret and

LeeAnn Pickrell

.

You see, all the lovely human beings who hang out here have a strange effect on me, they make me write more each day :)

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