deepundergroundpoetry.com

Library

I remember a girl, whispering
with menses, her breasts swelling

under a sweater.† She had just moved
upstairs from the childrenís room.

The bindings were like rows
of bones to her.† She didnít know yet

that she would suffer, or smoke
cigarettes forever, or that boys

would use her.† Only the books
mattered, as they would always

matter.† She sat at a table
for hours, cradling them,†then

donned her pink poncho,
headed down the steps into

encroaching maturity,everything
palatable, then.



*Note: This poem originally appeared in The Candlelight Poetry Journal (print).
pyrategurrll
Written by pyrategurrll (Lauren Tivey)
Published
Modified 3rd October 2011
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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