Thoughts from a Thinking Girl

I let down the hem of the wide-legged jeans, ripping

the narrow seam thread by thread. Unfolded,

the white crease revealed their age. Heat and steam

made it more pronounced. I ironed it permanent

instead of out, blue marker the last indelible mistake.

We cannot undo lines carved by time, gravity, stone

washed denim dreams, that forever carry our story.

As we saunter and swagger in faux indifference, some piece

of us drags on the ground, fades with each wash.

Outgrown, ruined by inexperience, by wanting the impossible,

by longing to smooth out time, to have even a simple wish

granted, by being unripened and unknowing in the unstoppable

slow reveal of loss, impersonal as a sea of tombstones.

Etched names unstitched from those who wore them

outlive visitors, are spoken no more.

Here lies a young girl’s longing

1976-1978