Day Two: Woman in the Store

Woman in the Store
By Hannah Six

When she talks that way,
the woman in the store,
I wonder
why that little girl
so afraid so angry so
astounded by her
power that
—nodding, smiling—
she permits Them-Him
to do That,
hour after hour, only later
stopping, dropping, rolling,
dampening the flame;

and yet, the villain whose
tarnished face she screams
at in her feverish
dreams is not
the panther she abhors
but some tame gazelle.
The arrow of her
rage at once
destroys
transforms
this gentle creature,
whose sage wisdom
is, in truth, the pure
clear light of day.
"Wake up!"
admonishes the crone,
"Grown up and strong, your dreams
belong to no one but
yourself."

She is no child,
no one can save her,
save her
mother, stoned on
Berkeley concrete,
just to do it all again, again.
Says: It's time to grab
the reins, now, lean
into those growing pains;
be seen AND heard;
don't smile, look plain;
beat them all at their own
game; stop hiding;
deepen her girlish voice;
and lengthen her mincing stride;
because we have somewhere
to go and only our own
legs to get us there.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six