PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

At two, fingers gripping the edge of the crib,

watching their faces, silent:

“Look at her,” my aunt said to my mother.

“Look at those eyes.

She looks at us as if she were already an old lady, not a baby.”



Before you, I was

(practical).



I knew when love came, I would be beyond

       teddy bears and chocolate hearts;

that I would continue to be unmoved by the tired clichés of

       love songs on the radio;

and that I had long bypassed the silliness of

       “highlighting my eyes”;  pretty clothes and styled hair.



But since you, I find myself

wearing pink

wanting flowers and

dinner with candles

putting on the clothes I know you like

and writing you

love poems.



You make me want to put flowers in my hair;

be a girl, for the first time.



And after twenty-four years of watching

the ‘old lady’ finally become a young girl,

they nod to each other and say,

“Well, she never did do anything in the right order.

Doesn’t she look pretty, though?”