POEM TWENTY SEVEN

 

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What Does She See?

 

Her mother’s words rise up

like dandelions in spring,

ubiquitous.

 

Hack, whack or mow them down

and still they rise again.

You must suffer for beauty.

 

She wonders now

if she can even define

the details or the results.

 

She sees the little lines of life

become creases

and then crevices.

 

Mirror, mirror are you true?

What does suffering require?

A little gold chain

 

edging from ear to ear

tucked under,

 to hold up her double chin?

 

or a surgeons scalpel

to make her face a drum

so tight she can’t smile?

 

She wonders

if that’s what her mother meant.

What was her mother’s other expression?

 

Beauty is only skin deep.

 Copyright 2013

C.J. Prince

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About cjprincepoet

I write. I read. I write and read...I listen to raindrops on begonias, talk to ravens, dance with dragons. I practice Tai Chi in a barn, I sleep with earth stones and tarot cards. I celebrate each day. Join me!
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