It has taken me decades
To look how I wanted to
At eleven -
The rough elegance
Of ivy, wound and dripping
Off bark
Jagged perfect hearts,
After years, a bouquet
Of my own making
And not listening to you
Or my impatience -
Just the girl
Who didn't want to brush her hair,
But catch her billowing skirts
On jutting leaves.
To look how I wanted to
At eleven -
The rough elegance
Of ivy, wound and dripping
Off bark
Jagged perfect hearts,
After years, a bouquet
Of my own making
And not listening to you
Or my impatience -
Just the girl
Who didn't want to brush her hair,
But catch her billowing skirts
On jutting leaves.
I know how to be her now.
May I forgive myself
For never waiting long enough,
For forgetting
The desire of the young,
The trailing lovely dirty forest,
The gait of the willow -
In my impulsive attempts
To shape a flower,
Instead of letting her grow.
Copyright LJ Ireton 2023
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