Congratulations, You’re a Woman Now – A Villanelle
Her body aches in its cold prison.
Smudged sheets shift over stained sweatpants.
Is this what it means to be a woman?
Limbs turn to lead even before she’s risen,
she steps into the light and the whole world slants.
Her body aches in its cold prison.
Flushed water dyed with rolls of red ribbon,
crushed white petals reek like dead plants.
Is this what it means to be a woman?
Wet scrubs in a basin, under foam barely hidden –
father and brother should not, can not, spare a glance.
Her body thrums in its cold prison.
Her mother waits dutifully in the kitchen.
Broth boils under closed lids, held in demure trance.
Is this all it means to be a woman?
She traces the mirror, trying to find the vision
of faraway daydreams about power and romance.
Her body aches in its cold prison.
Is this what it means to be a woman?