The Women
Kim Addonizio
We turn sixteen. We cannabis
and Vicodin. We Dexadrine.
We stolen scarves and dresses
disordered in boys’ cars
and falling down on dance floors.
We waste years and wishes
and finally marry
or wait for a king who does dishes.
We curse bosses.
We birth give and bring forth
and feel our unworth.
We divorce. We grow
uncool. We carpool.
We forgive those who lie down against us.
We lose June. We lose July.
In August we look in mirrors and want to die.
We hot flash. We worry cash.
Night cream lotus jewel and bicep curl
we try. We buy high heels.
We lunch. We find lumps.
We put our feet in the stirrups
and our lives in the hands
and our hearts to the wheel
which grinds us,
and so
over time
we polish to a hard shine
and we divine.