Opening hidden
jewelry boxes as if they rightfully belonged to us.
Selecting the
green lacquered Oriental pendant,
tasseled and
strung on woven cords.
An outdated piece, a style from 40 years ago,
is now a
treasured vintage piece.
She never wore it anyway.
The dangling and
jingling earrings,
as worn by our
grandmothers and villagers,
the kind we would
never wear in America,
is suddenly Ethnic and Tribal Chic.
She won’t miss it since she has others.
We dive into hair
accessories drawers
as if it’s an
extension of our own collection.
Selecting the
most practical or the most extravagant to make a statement.
We will only borrow until she asks for it
back.
We spray posh scents
she was given as presents,
until we’re
caught,
betrayed by the scent and a bottle slowly drained.
The fragrance is now
tucked away.
Fine, I'll use mine.
We conveniently take these
bits of her womanhood,
hoping
to reap that core essence of femininity.
We hold the
arrogance of youth in believing we know better,
and the entitlement of the
child with a free reign of her possessions.
We patch bits of
her onto ourselves, even after we've stepped away.
