Susan's molars were aligned like ice in a tray,
She had eyes that were green like halved kiwis, black seeded pupils,
Dark Cleopatra hair, dark lipstick, small shoes,
And a tiny, straight nose,
The caviar of noses.
Because she had green eyes and everyone else's eyes were brown,
Our fifth-grade class made her Popular right away,
She lost her seat with the cheerleaders after a while,
After they saw that she covered her whole face when she laughed,
Turned pink at the mention of ghosts,
And changed direction when she saw a cute boy heading her way.
She came to us--the outcasts,
We had all the usual deformities,
Braces with rubber bands, glasses with lenses like bulletproof glass,
Our pimpled faces like moon surfaces studded with red coral,
We were the girls they placed in the back row of the stage at school shows,
That final high tier made of wobbly wood,
For tall girls or girls who couldn't dance,
Did we all fear the wood would give way on that fourth tier?
We would fall backward, ugly angels toppling to the floor,
Clumsy angels expendable as the appendix.
Susan was short but she ended up back there with us at the Christmas show,
Surprising, considering she was pretty,
Knew how to curl her hair,
Straighten it, crimp it,
Knew Revlon, kohl and La Looks,
But she couldn't dance.
Susan was always prettier than us,
She walked among us--a greater angel,
Robed in our envy, crowned with our awe,
We hoped our brown eyes would turn green as kiwi guts,
That our teeth would straighten, our feet shrink, our nails turn glossy,
That someone would unbolt our spines,
Set us free for dancing.
Copyright 2006 by the Tipton Poetry Journal.
All rights remain the exclusive property of the individual poet and may not be used without their permission.