Sunday Morning

Hidden objectives. Twelve years old and not one understanding aroud the corner.

Sunday Morning


The glossy print
of a caramel smile
beamed up towards me
from the checkered bathroom floor.

I picked it up
and pressed it against
my twelve year old breasts.

Words hiss in my ear-
“Lesbian”-
“Dyke”-

I looked again at my procured princess,
her pointed curves,
phantoms-
of what I would achieve
in a few years time,

and allowed my fingers
to linger
down
across
my
waist….

“Five Minutes”

My mother sang
from somewhere
near the front door.

Could she come to some conclusion,
looking into her daughter’s
averted eyes?

I couldn’t even think it.

I took a deep breath,
and count to ten,
steadying my trembling body.

I pulled up
my pink Sunday dress,
placed Caramel
back
into her brown paper
blanket,
hiding her behind
the bleached towels
underneath the sink.

I took one last drink
of my puerile skin-

and pulled on my starched white gloves.