Let her walk in the abysmal winter rain by Gerard Brennan

Let her walk in the abysmal winter rain
for it’s her hair.
Let her drink from that broken cup
(the one you kept meaning to throw away)
for it’s her lip to cut.
Tell her tales of red riding hood
but one with happy endings.
Let her curse all those Gods
who dish out perfect bodies
with their tiny, tiny flaws.
Let her think she walks on water
for she has the right to almost drown.
Tell her tales of handsome princes
who’ll see poetry even in her split ends.
Let her rage against the ghosts
both real and imaginary.
Let her think cool and hip
were uninvented when you first drew breath.
Tell her how umbilical cords
are never cleanly cut and how
that blood is thicker than water
(according to scientists).
Let her carry her stick–like body
in a way that befits a dead princess.
Let her eyes fill up with the wonder
that you too once knew
as a wild untamed force of nature.
Then tell her all the things you never knew
and how you forgot you ever knew them.
And when she falls as fall she must
she’ll know that somewhere between
the stars and the abyss
there are wonders yet to be unwrapped
and that one of them
will fit her like the party dress you never
thought she’d wear.

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