By: Erin Davis
I.
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.
II.
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,