Tearing the sashes off all
the other little girls' dresses -
polka dots and plaids and calicos,
your idea of a bright,
hoofed hurricane with all those sashes
streaming out behind you ...
eagle feathers, dancers' scarves,
a red stallion's tail.
Your mother tried to explain
to the other little girls' mothers
about the damaged dresses.
She never asked about the joy
of flashing sashes.
She only saw the small fabric
mouths gaping at the waist,
and all the mending to do.
Previously appeared in Eclectica Magazine