She slides over
the hot upholstery
of her mother's car,
this schoolgirl of fifteen
who loves humming & swaying
with the radio.
Her entry into womanhood
will be like all the other girls'—
a cigarette and a joke,
as she strides up with the rest
to a brick factory
where she'll sew rag rugs
from textile strips of kelly green,
bright red, aqua.
When she enters,
and the millgate closes,
final as a slap,
there'll be silence.
She'll see fifteen high windows
cemented over to cut out light.
Inside, a constant, deafening noise
and warm air smelling of oil,
the shifts continuing on ...
All day she'll guide cloth along a line
of whirring needles, her arms & shoulders
rocking back & forth
with the machines—
200 porch size rugs behind her
before she can stop
to reach up, like her mother,
and pick the lint
out of her hair.
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Comments about this poem (Womanhood by Catherine Anderson )
- After Many Years (Tanka), Mihaela Pirjol
- I live and I, gajanan mishra
- Crime & War, Dean Meredith
- This world is messy, MOHAMMAD SKATI
- Barriers Within, Namita Sawant
- Ma mate kahuchhi, gajanan mishra
- The New Watch, Terence Murphy
- My mother is telling me, gajanan mishra
- The Search, david kush
- Belissima, Patricia Spears Jones
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