The Lost Girls

Poetry practice has taken a more formal turn this morning, with me working on rhyme scheme and keeping to a strict syllabic format. Partly, this is to do with having more time to tinker around with it. Open form is often a default position when the week is busy. Or haiku when I am teaching. Of which there is going to be an awful lot of in the next quarter. For now though, this is maybe a bit of a hangover from International Women’s Day.

Adolesence can be the wilderness (bewildering) years for both boys and girls. Yet, I really feel some girls get really lost and find it a long road to find their way back to their first nature. Maybe give them a compass and map, instead of the rape whistle I was issued with during orientation week as a freshman in college.

The Lost Girls

Perhaps we should issue
every girl
with a compass and map.

Along with some lessons
in wildcrafting,
how to tap tree sap.

Yet many are frightened,
lost in the woods,
left wounded and hurting.

They begin life, unfurl
beautifully,
blooming as nature means,

a wide-eyed child who twirls
dancing into
the world, light as a breeze.

Then we discontinue
their wildish glee.
Confused, misunderstood,

they argue, misconstrue,
left without means
to find their way, to do

themselves no harm.  Sadly,
beautiful girl,
we did not teach you lore,

to read a compass or
a paper map.
Instead we tried to strap

you into pinafores
you long outwore.
When what we knew we should

have done all along for
you was let live
your true north, your nature,

to give you a compass
when your sixteen,
teach you to read all maps,

go without GPS,
to venture forth
exploring your wild heart.


Copyright © 2019 Bee Smith. All rights reserved.
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