I won't have you
dress like that,
Lizbeth's mother said,
eyeing her daughter's
too short skirt,
because she had outgrown it,
but still wore it,
and the blouse tight
across her *******
What's wrong with it?
Lizbeth asked,
taking in
her mother's stare,
the downturn of mouth.
It's too short;
it shows too much,
her mother replied,
sensing rebellion
in her daughter's stare.
But I like it:
don't like that other thing
you bought,
Lizbeth said.
Go and change;
put on a dress;
something that isn't
too short,
her mother stated.
Lizbeth sighed
and left the room
and stomped the stairs
to her bedroom
and slammed the door.
She closed her eyes;
heard birdsong
from the open window,
opening on to the garden.
Downstairs her mother
had switched on the radio
and classical music erupted.
She undid the skirt
and stepped out of it
and kicked it
across the room.
It lay next
to the record player
and the Billy fury LP.
She stood in front
of the wardrobe mirror
and gazed at herself.
She wished Benny
was there
eyeing her.
Not that he'd stare;
he'd look away shyly.
She pulled open a drawer
and took out the skirt
her mother had bought:
flowery and pink and red.
She stepped into it
and zipped it up:
it fell past her knees.
She turned the top
shortening the length.
It was above
her knees now.
She gazed at it:
maybe I could
make it shorter,
somehow.
Oct 13, 2018
Oct 13, 2018 at 11:12 AM UTC
I won't have you
dress like that,
Lizbeth's mother said,
eyeing her daughter's
too short skirt,
because she had outgrown it,
but still wore it,
and the blouse tight
across her *******
What's wrong with it?
Lizbeth asked,
taking in
her mother's stare,
the downturn of mouth.
It's too short;
it shows too much,
her mother replied,
sensing rebellion
in her daughter's stare.
But I like it:
don't like that other thing
you bought,
Lizbeth said.
Go and change;
put on a dress;
something that isn't
too short,
her mother stated.
Lizbeth sighed
and left the room
and stomped the stairs
to her bedroom
and slammed the door.
She closed her eyes;
heard birdsong
from the open window,
opening on to the garden.
Downstairs her mother
had switched on the radio
and classical music erupted.
She undid the skirt
and stepped out of it
and kicked it
across the room.
It lay next
to the record player
and the Billy fury LP.
She stood in front
of the wardrobe mirror
and gazed at herself.
She wished Benny
was there
eyeing her.
Not that he'd stare;
he'd look away shyly.
She pulled open a drawer
and took out the skirt
her mother had bought:
flowery and pink and red.
She stepped into it
and zipped it up:
it fell past her knees.
She turned the top
shortening the length.
It was above
her knees now.
She gazed at it:
maybe I could
make it shorter,
somehow.
A girl and her mother 1961
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