Chime
We were birds then
at thirteen, a chime
of wrens chirping,
carbonated goddesses
blowing bubbles,
spilling secrets,
dancing the latest dances,
we did each others’ hair,
practiced kissing,
gossiped (a girl’s
first step toward insight),
we shook the magic eight ball,
could not imagine
a path toward our future —
we only knew we didn’t want
our mothers’ lives,
taking dictation,
cleaning up messes,
hiding tins of money,
we were angels falling,
wingless, trusting
the wind to lift
our bodies of light
far above the silver
water tower,
to let us down kindly
somewhere, anywhere
wild and broad and new.
— Debra Kaufman
Debra Kaufman’s latest collection of poetry is God Shattered.
