Iron
By Susan Mardele
The elastic and metal shape my body
the way it’s supposed to look.
Narrow waist, flared bottom,
rounded bosom.
The shoes, four-inch stilettos,
shape my calves to attractive proportions.
The bell skirt shows off my gentle glide
across the floor.
My face, painted to beauty,
has all the right features…
Arched brows, wide eyes, long lashes,
rosy cheeks.
The iron bars of convention tell me
what to look like to be a woman
I turn the key one day
and let my breath out.
Halt the measured effort to glide
and stride out with a clean face.
I wear a dress hand-woven in many colors,
lopsided and flowing.
And greet the world,
a real woman at last.