I hoped you would not pierce your perfect skin.
I thought you were too young to do it, to barter pain
for beauty. I spoke – too late – of mutilation.
It turned out that I loved the sight of them,
the hoops and drops, the shells and cupules hugging
your lobes with the aid of a slim gold pin;
and anyway the punctures were no more than that.
Now you have battle scars and wear them like a hero
under his breastplate. Powerless as Demeter
to protect, I watch you these days as you reach out
for your daughter, for whom you’d barter
anything in life…your beauty, if you were asked.
A mother’s love for her daughter and in turn that person’s love for her daughter. The continuity of it all; an age-old poetic theme. Diana sent me this unpublished poem for my interest. I liked it so much I asked her permission to post it on the Tuesday Poem blog. .
The Tuesday Poem website is http://www.tuesdaypoem.blogspot.com
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