Saturday, June 8, 2019


Her mother called her Wild Child.
As soon as she could stand
she danced and stomped
her baby feet
and early learned to walk and run
while resisting all shoe offerings.
No bunny faces, blinking stars
or quacking heels could win her over.
She liked the grit of dirt between her toes
the tickle of grass
the purity of rain.

And then, the time arrived to go to school
to be like others
who didn't seem to mind enclosures:
laced shoes, chopped time, designated spaces.
Captured, she settled down
became compliant, successful.
Stood on her own two feet.
Until they began to ache
and she grew tired and pinched
and old enough to leave that world behind

 She gave-away, threw away
heels and suits
body shapers
All that binds.
She took to long, cool  dresses
barefoot walks
talks with wind and rain.   
And, if the radio played a jaunty tune
she danced like the wild child
she never really left behind.

Bridget Harwell