Important work inside her small brain, big mind,
words she cannot spell surround her anyway.
Kept inside for protection, for the rough stints
surrounding mother, the girl is pale, her fingernails
clipped precisely, her hair in pigtails,
the show for anyone that knocks at the door.
Mama brews a child from scratch
because this is 1979 and things must not change.
The 80s form underfoot without warning.
She’s a bad girl now, in her room, in her
closet, the clothes hang above silent
like a message of hope, new day, new dress.
In the bathroom mirror, her freckles as useless
to her as Braille, small fingers caress
but can’t understand, why beauty
is learned, is a trick in all directions.