WOMEN ARE CONTROLLED DAILY BY MULTITUDES OF BEAUTY IMAGES
a mother stands
with her daughter
near the images
of lips and
lashes, the
perfect teeth
in a square
and thinks how she
taught her baby
to ride a bicycle
thru leaves and
as the wheels
wobbled, she
watched her
girl pull from
her hands. She
waited for the
crash, saw what
she held so close
grow smaller,
her hair flash
in the wind. She
stares at the
pursed lips, the
pouts, the
poses, thinks of
her daughter's
hair wilder
than these
reflecting
perfect lips,
her mouth open
as none of these
are, tasting
the wind, laughing