|
At six I watched the older girls-
Was jealous of their rash of rouge
And thickened lashes framing eyes.
There was a row of trees that grew
Between those girls and where I sat
And each branch held its crimson bells.
I smeared the red across my lips
That day I first had picked the tree.
In nature bright and flashy shades
Are used to warn of poisonous fruit
But in my yard that day, that year
There was no god created thing
That could have stopped my smile there.
I gave up on the fake lipstick
And berries sank into my mouth.
My teeth caught skin and stretched it back
The meat lay bare against my tongue
And left its stain,
A ruby drop.
copyright 2006
Michelle
Daugherty |
