Monster

Monster

In China
long ago
your mother
bent over you
(such a tiny girl),
straining against
the white cloth strips
pulling tight,
tighter,
tightest.

Binding that monstrosity:
Balance.

She made you into
a lotus flower,
"skimming over
the top of the water".

So beautiful.

Your pink flesh,
now curled and tucked
and folded,
makes perfect
quiet steps
that will not leave
the smallest mark.

So careful.

The pain has slowly
crept away.
A comfort now
to slip into
those infant shoes.

The years of outstretched hands
to catch your fall
have seemed
as but a day.

But on this day
Revolution
sings softly in the air;
throbs faintly
beneath the cloth.

And though it hurts
(so much!) sometimes
to be free,

My child,
I unbind you.