Little Innocence

By: Erin Davis


Blessings of life grow within the small little bow that

you donned in youth. When your hair was still

carrot gold, karat in blossom and you sit soundly in class

when little boys tugged at your ponytail and scoffed

and wanted you to be ashamed of your nose

because they wanted freckles too, but that was too blemished

for the age of the teacher with her ruler and her alarm

clock of noon time.


Ballet class was pasted in lines of chalk where

you saw the older girls twirl in those powdered fields to

smother their points and stare at their

buns of bobby pins to choke on—

you pull up your tights like they do,