Pink Bow
Audrey Woodruff

conscious, captivating | Jocelyn Licwinko | Multimedia
They had barely pulled me out
of my mother’s womb,
and already a bow was in my hair.
Was it tied in before
or after my first breath?
Start her young and she
shall not depart from it.
My twin brother and I,
a baby boy and a doll.
The bow has never loosened.
I would let go
of the church swing set
on the highest arc.
Wings on my Mary Janes.
At peace, I was nothing
but an angry pink blur.
But I would fall
and drag my bow and chain.
I ran from that bow like
a hangman’s noose,
but it tightens every day.