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If she were my mother

Appeared in the Spring and Summer 2005 issue.

I'd take her jet-black eyeliner
and scrawl 'she loves you, dahlings'
on the wall. I'd rewrite her life
in lipstick, unpoisoning grandmother's
blood, dressing baby in boyish blue.

She'd turn cartwheels
in a buckskin dress, and like
a gallery girl, I would clap my hands
and covet her eyelashes. I'd understand
my name when she pronounced it
in that renowned, sardonic drawl.

Tallulah, hallelujah—
Not a proper Southern lady,
she'd never want an English Rose.

View bio information and additional poems published in Half Drunk Muse on the author's main archive page.

Copyright 1999-2012 Alyson Dayus.