Debutante

She had a baby girl,

eyes like her mama,

smile like her daddy.

She moved the mountains

every mother comes up against,

built muscles of stone for her children.

To the daughter,

she made mothering look easy.

Baby Girl marveled at the way

Mama cooked without measurements,

survived without compliments,

changed for those she loved

without a tear

or a hair out of place.

Baby Girl liked lists and recipes,

tugged at sleeves for begged niceties,

drank gallons of water to replace all

that seeped over her eyelids,

and had a secret

she couldn’t ever change.

She didn’t want to break Mama’s heart.

But one day a door in Baby Girl’s chest

that held back acres and years

– of glossy lingerie ads and

unspoken questions about the

the way hips feel under satin
or the urge to brush long hair
back from a girl’s face –
it cracked down the middle
and every private keepsake
came tumbling out,
out where Mama could see.
And in Mama’s chest
another door burst,
and years of dreams for Baby Girl,
of trimesters and white dresses
and chats with Mama
over tea while Husbands
talked outside,
spilled out over the floor.
And though Mama tried to hide it,
it did break her heart,
and Baby Girl felt the fracture
as if no time had passed
sine they were two hearts
sharing one body.

P.S. If you like, check out my Etsy store and support The Humane League!

https://www.etsy.com/ca/shop/SoftSpotAccessories?ref=l2-shopheader-name

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