I’ve hidden my stiletto heels and lipstick
and tucked away the push-up bras
because she’ll find them. Like an archaeologist
mining for bones she’ll dig them out and
put them on upside-down or backwards. Proudly
she’ll show me that her genetic code is
dipped in pink and that toy cars are fine and all,
but she’d rather totter and sway, inching closer
to who she’ll be in fivetenfifteentwenty years.
Despite my devious plans she’ll ask me to paint
her fingernails and watch her twirl her dress.
And when she tells me I’m a princess, I find myself
smiling and shimmering a bit.
Sarah Clayville’s work has appeared in the Threepenny Review, Literary Orphans, and StoryChord, among other journals. She is a Pushcart Prize nominee and currently works as an American Literature and Creative Writing teacher. Read her work at SarahSaysWrite.com or follow her on Twitter @SarahSaysWrite.