Cruel ocean mother doesn’t want her baby to grow up
Doesn’t warn her about the flood she could unleash
On every bed sheet and sensible pair of panties
She teaches her to make the body a fortress, we do not touch
Prom dresses, pigs feet, desire that shatters car windows
And makes pretty girls into graves
Without even knowing who Morrissey is
The only rockstars she knows are Saints
The only bleeding she wants to do
Is on her own terms
She stops talking to her mother, stops thinking about the dance
Stops her period
Now that she knows what she is
She knows she can make the body a weapon too
If her mother could see her now
Wounds to rival Jesus on the Cross
She would cry and cry until her tears drowned all living things
My God, something terrible must have happened to you, to make you this way
She grins: It did mother, it did
Rocky Halpern is a poet and essayist based in NYC. Their work can be found in Brevity, Vagabond City Lit, and Uncharted Magazine. Read more at Rockyhalpern.com
