I stole beauty from another girl--
Ripped it right out of her handsIn a hail of cosmetics and hairspray,
Then ghosted away with it to my underground lair.
But when I tried to bash it open,
The lock wouldn't budge
And anyway, it wasn't my size.
I took it to my mother's house and dropped it dead center on her holiday table--
Shrieking, I raked my broken fingernails right down to the bone of love and hatred that props us together, and she
Embraced
The locked
Foreign
Beauty that I ripped off from some bitch on the bus,
And said, "Daughter,
At last!
Welcome home."
___________
for What's Going On? "Beauty"
I felt every word of this, especially the closing lines. And the labels. I love best "and anyway it wasnt my size" and "I am I said." Yes, you are. A star.
ReplyDeleteWhat a fearsome poem - I hope true beauty and love will prevail - Jae
ReplyDelete". . . she
ReplyDeleteEmbraced
The locked
Foreign
Beauty" Ouch. You captured beautifully the "bound feet" of the beauty industry that mothers were brainwashed into feeding their children. Do they still do that? Or were we the next generation of mothers? (I have no children.) I like that the poem starts with peer pressure and maybe a desire to fit in. But "it wasn't my size." I like bash, budge, broken, bitch, bus.
. . . and how they fit with the b in beauty.
DeleteI like the intensity of this poem, the story, the anger, the great ending.
ReplyDeleteWhether in form or as here, in incandescent free verse, you nail our emotional blossoms to the wall of a bitter reality with a truth that scalds. Every line is gold, but I am particularly struck by the force in the middle of the final one, and the perfect close. How many of us have laid out our burnt offerings on that holiday table. A stunning write to bring out from your treasure vault of past poems.
ReplyDeleteOuch! Beauty may not be always a joy forever it seems.
ReplyDeleteHow painful it is when a mother does not see the true beauty her daughter possesses, as you've so aptly written here. Powerful, heartbreaking poetry, Shay.
ReplyDeleteHow does one get over the pain of a mother wanting a retail one-size-fits-all plastic beauty and rejecting the one-of-kind daughter that no airbrushed model can match? The heartache is real, unfathomable, excruciating "right down to the bone of love and hatred . . . ." The curse of what she embraced is upon her, not you.
ReplyDeleteThis hit me hard. There is nothing that hurts more than rejection.
ReplyDeleteFearsome and fearless. Beauty so objectified it can be locked in a box and still has power for others at our expense.
ReplyDelete