She tells me she likes the new side
Where they eat pomegranates all day
And her life
Sounds like an ancient poem
Chanted down the ages
To her at six.
I wonder if the myths are always in us
And we ache to relive them through art
She says meditate instead of pray
And Stracciatella instead of chocolate chip
And I think that’s a generational vernacular shift in the right direction
She holds the scrunchie open and pulls her hair through
At the final pass she stops halfway, a poor man’s bun
And I wonder what’s inherited and what’s instinct.
More from Maggie Devers ↓
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