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When the Girl is too Young

When the Girl is too Young

It was just a comb I gave to you,
snapped in two. Just an old silver comb
mended in the middle, soldered back together,
and stowed away some while ago.

I haven’t even seen how it must be
when it holds back your hair,
its shiny tines like lucky fingers
combing back your hair, except for
that first day when you set it in place.

You weren’t really smiling then,
but you neither turned away.
You were just sitting where you sat
in a late day’s light like the rainbow rise,
and already a woman, but also a child.

I didn’t mean to look down, aside,
looking to stop my eyes from seeing yours.
It’s just what happened that day,
seeing you there, how you were sitting then,
or whenever I’ve seen you again,
quiet, serious, comfortably contained by
what day thing’s come to press your brain.

Well, it felt like a marsh pond rippling,
rising, too easily breathing.
And I felt like a stone, then, that could
sink down to the bottom of your home.
like a cast off, a throwaway bone
bleached, dried, left out too long.

My meaning is hard to cover up,
what I need to do, especially from you.
I’d be crazy anyway to think this could
be a heart-thing between the two of us.

Or that you really did say, looking down
and not so far away, “But I love him.”
Or that, but what else is left
except to ask you home?

Nov/23/2020, 9:39 pm Link to this post Send Email to Terreson   Send PM to Terreson

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