Stealing From Our Mothers

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An outdated piece, a style from 40 years ago,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.